Facades
by GeekLoveFan
Summary: GSR COMPLETE! Epilogue.
1. Diversions

Disclaimer: I do not own CSI. But we knew that already, right? Hell, I don't even own the DVDs (until Christmas, anyway!). I do, however, own a cat, a perfect husband, a degree in biology, a passion for entomology, and an insatiable desire for Sara and Grissom to hook up.

A/N: This is my first fanfic—hopefully the first of many. I will warn you, however, that my stuff will be all GSR, so if you're not into that...I hate it for you. There will probably also be a constant fluff alert, so if you're not into that, either, too bad. Oh, yeah, one more thing. I don't give a crap if G and S are OOC or if we're living in an AU. It's my story and I'll do what I want with them. Steps down off soapbox One last thing, TriplePirouette, I hope you enjoy this—it's right up your alley!

Facades

Sara looked around her as she stepped out of her Tahoe with her gym bag. Thankfully, she didn't see anyone she knew. That would be just exactly what she needed—someone from the lab finding out about her newfound "diversion." Slipping the bag over her shoulder, she headed through the morning sun toward the door to the gym.

----------

Grissom pulled into the gym parking lot and cursed under his breath when he didn't see Jim's vehicle. He was dead-tired after shift and wanted nothing more than the comfort of his bed; however, an agreement was an agreement, and he had agreed to start working out with Brass three mornings a week. But where _was_ that man? With a sigh, Grissom grabbed his bag and headed into the gym alone. The receptionist nodded at him as he walked in. Grissom was pleased that it had only taken a couple of weeks for the gym staff to get to know them. It was nice to be noticed...occasionally.

----------

Walking into the dance studio, Sara dropped her bag in the corner. Plopping down next to it, she kicked off her Chacos and rummaged in the bag for her ballet slippers. She was still sore from yesterday's session, and she wondered for the millionth time if she wasn't crazy to try to start dancing again after nearly 15 years. When she had begun coming to the gym to work out, she had noticed the dance studio. One of the staff members, a petite girl named Jessica, mentioned that it was mostly used for aerobics classes, but when Sara had commented on the fully mirrored walls and the presence of a barre, Jessica smiled knowingly. She helpfully mentioned that the studio was empty in the mornings, and that gym dues included use of _all _of their fine facilities. Sara had smiled at that as Jessica walked off. 'Hmm,' she thought. 'Grissom said I needed a diversion...'

Sliding her ballet slippers onto her feet, Sara moved to the stereo for some music before she began stretching. After some basic floor stretches, she moved to the barre and kicked her left leg up. Moving through some simple pliés and relevés, she smiled to herself as she imagined the looks on her coworkers' faces if they could see her. Sara, a dancer? That would be almost as shocking as Sara as a cheerleader. Almost. She had begun dancing when she was 9—her mother had thought it would be a great way for her awkward daughter to learn some coordination, and with any luck, a little bit of grace. To everyone's surprise, Sara had been good. Very good. Within a month, her dance teacher had taken her on for private lessons, in order to catch her up with her peers who had been dancing since they were three or four. Within a year, Sara was dancing en pointe. Dancing became her refuge, her passion. Dancing was the initial reason for her interest in physics. By understanding physics, she reasoned, she could improve her skills as a dancer. She continued to dance until college, and even took one or two classes at Harvard to relieve the stress of her physics-laden courseload. When she had gotten to her last couple of years of course work, though, everything else had fallen by the wayside as she hungrily devoured 15- and 18-hour semesters. By the time she graduated and moved on to graduate work at Berkeley, dancing had been effectively shoved to the back of her mind, where it stayed for nearly 15 years. Then, a couple of months ago, when Jessica had hinted that she could use the dance studio, she decided to bite the bullet and dig out her ancient ballet gear.

As Sara moved away from the barre and began moving through some basic footwork, she was glad she had decided to splurge on new slippers. She hadn't wanted to buy new pointe shoes until she knew whether her ankles were still strong enough to dance en pointe, but one look at her ancient slippers had told her that new ones were in order. She had eagerly gone to a dance supply store in search of new leotards, tights, and slippers. After selecting five leotards in varying colors of pink and black, she had moved on to tights and slippers. Tights were easy enough—several pairs of classic pink. Same story with slippers: classic pink. When she had gotten home, her first order of business was to open all the packages of tights and cut the feet off. Unless she was performing, she couldn't stand to have anything on her feet besides her ballet shoes. She had tried her selections on and had been marginally satisfied at what she saw. At 33, she knew she should be thankful that she was still so trim and toned. 'Still,' she had thought, 'there's always room for improvement.'

On Sara's first day in the studio, she had been relatively pleased at how quickly everything came back to her. She knew that in some respect, dance was like riding a bike—you never quite forget how. On the other hand, she knew she would probably have major problems with form, flexibility, and most of all, strength. She had no idea if her ankles were strong enough to allow her to do something as simple as a piqué turn en pointe. As it turned out, they were. On her first day back in, she managed to do two or three rudimentary pique turns and something resembling an arabesque—all while en pointe. She was glad that she could do that much, but her real desires—pirouettes and fouettés—were still far out of her reach. She resolved to perfect the steps in slippers, and recondition her ankles. Two months, she told herself.

As Sara finished warming up on footwork, she smiled as she thought to herself, 'Today's the day!' Today she would begin attempting more difficult steps en pointe, and if all went well, she would try to begin to choreograph something for herself. She decided to spend a few more minutes in slippers before progressing to pointe shoes. She moved to the center of the floor and did a single pirouette. Perfect. She spun into a double pirouette. No problem. Now for a triple...yes! Sara grinned as she came to a stop. She thought about attempting a quad, but decided to leave well enough alone. Now for some fouettés.

TBC...

**Chapter 2: Flashback**

A/N: I am aware that many of you have no idea what all these French ballet terms mean. You don't really need to. All you need to know is that if you haven't been en pointe in many years, your ankles get weak and you can't do the same cool stuff you used to be able to do. Oh, yeah, and fouettés are hard. Really hard. If you want a demonstration of fouettés, you can Google the term and you should get some really good sites with demos. Enjoy!

Sara did a few fouettés in her slippers before she decided to risk killing herself by trying it en pointe. She went back to her corner and pulled off her slippers and reached for her pointe shoes. 'Well,' she thought, 'at least I don't have to worry about breaking them in...' She adjusted the wool in the toes and slipped them on her feet. She hadn't worn them since her first day in the studio two months ago. She tied her ribbons and tucked them under and stood up. Rising up, she did a few piqué turns, feeling much more confident than the last time she had tried it. 'Good,' she smiled to herself.

A few perfect pirouettes later, Sara's confidence was soaring as she realized that she had indeed managed to get back into some sort of dancing shape. As she prepared to attempt her fouettés, she thought back to her senior year in high school and smiled.

"_Sara! Come on!" Natalie poked her head into the changing room impatiently. "Mme. Paula's waiting on everyone to start auditions!" 17 year-old Sara Sidle hurriedly finished adjusting her pointe shoes and took a deep breath as she looked in the mirror. 'This is it, Sara,' she thought to herself. The final auditions for _Swan Lake _were today, and she was in the running, along with 6 other senior girls, to play the role of Odette/Odile in the classic ballet. Mme. Paula, her dance teacher, insisted that whoever won the role must perform it exactly as Pierina Legnani had—with the famous (or infamous, to ballerinas) 32 fouett_é_s. Long cursed by her ballet descendents, Legnani had been the first woman to perform such a feat, making her a legend. Mme. Paula Bernard had one of the top dance schools in the Bay area, and had a number of extremely talented young ballerinas. She wondered how many could of them could consistently perform 32 fouett_é_s in a row, however. She would soon find out. _

_Sara stepped out of the changing room and walked down the hall to Mme. Paula's main studio. She was the last of the 7 senior girls to arrive. As she took her place at the barre for warm-ups, her nerves began to get to her. 'Calm down, Sara...being nervous isn't going to help you at all. You haven't been practicing for months just to blow it now.' They spent a few minutes at the barre and then began working on footwork. Now the final portion of the audition would begin. Mme. Paula began with grand jet_é_s. Sara leaped into the air, thanking God for her natural flexibility, and landed like a cat. She smiled as she noted Mme. Paula's approving nod. The other girls completed their jumps as well. A few more exercises, and then it was time. Natalie was first. Mme. Paula watched as Natalie began whipping around. 'One, two, three, four...' Sara counted in her head. Natalie lost her spot and spun out at number 26, and Sara's heart couldn't decide whether to break or jump for joy at her friend's misfortune. Natalie looked so sad. 26 was pretty close, though, and it didn't necessarily mean she wouldn't get the part. The only problem was that Mme. Paula wanted each girl to attempt MORE than 32 fouett_é_s in a row, just to prove that they could do it consistently, and with confidence. Emily was next and made it to 30. Dawn lost her balance at 19. Catherine made it to 32 but lost her balance on the last one, making a less than graceful exit out of the spins. Blair got to 28. Sami hit 26, like Natalie. Finally, Sara stepped to the middle of the floor, took a calming breath, pulled her center of gravity up as far as possible and began the turns. 'One, two, three...pull up, pull up! No, stop, don't think, just count...six, seven...' Sara let her mind go blank and she concentrated only on pulling up as far as she could. She let her body fall into auto-pilot mode. On the 32nd rotation, she thought she might pass out with relief, but kept spinning. 33, 34, 35, 36, 37, 38...on number 39 she figured she was safe (and besides, her working leg was killing her) and she gracefully came to a stop, with a small smile on her lips. Mme. Paula looked at her intently. "Beautiful, Sara," she breathed. "Just beautiful." _

_The next afternoon, the cast of _Swan Lake _was posted. At the very top, next to the words "Odette/Odile" was her name. Sara Sidle. She leaned back against the wall and closed her eyes, a sweet smile spreading over her face. She was the star._

_The five performances of _Swan Lake _went nearly flawlessly. She performed the famous 32 fouett_é_s as if she was a professional dancer. And to make the whole experience even sweeter, on the day of the last performance, she got her acceptance letter from Harvard in the mail. That night, she danced as if she had wings on her feet..._

Sara's mind snapped back to the present. She took a deep breath, prayed she wouldn't break an ankle, pulled her head up high, and began a series of fouettés...

----------

Grissom sighed as he looked at his watch yet again. Where on Earth was Brass? He briefly considered calling him, but decided against it. 'Whatever,' he thought to himself. He was here, though, so he might as well go ahead and work out. He wondered if Sara had noticed the subtle changes in his body since he'd begun hitting the gym. 'Yeah, right, Grissom...' he thought dejectedly. 'You blew it once, and she's never going to give you a second chance. She probably hates your guts by now. You are a first-rate ass, you know that?' He gritted his teeth and fell back into that familiar old habit of trying to shove the ever-present Miss Sara Sidle out of his mind.

Walking over to the nearest weight bench, he added one 45-pound disk to each side of the bar. 135 pounds would make for a decent warm up. Cursing his aging back, he positioned himself under the bar and hoped he wouldn't regret doing this without Brass to spot him... After three sets of ten, his pecs and triceps were beginning to burn—a lot. 'Time for a break, old guy,' he thought to himself. He stood up and walked around the weight room, swinging his arms to loosen them up. He walked by a window he had not previously noticed and looked through it curiously. The window led into some sort of dance studio, and as he paused, his breath caught in his throat. "What the...?" he whispered to himself. On the other side of the window, an angel was dancing. An angel that looked exactly like Sara Sidle.

TBC...


	2. Wakeup call

Sara felt like she was on top of the world. She had missed dancing and she hadn't even realized it. Her fouettés were far from flawless, but she was doing them nonetheless. She would have considered it a total triumph if she made one rotation without falling on her ass or breaking an ankle, but the fact that she got 4 complete rotations in before her supporting ankle started giving out was nothing short of miraculous, in her mind. She bent down and massaged her ankle, patting it gratefully. 'Okay,' she thought to herself. 'Now you can start choreographing something therapeutic.' After her near-DUI, she knew she had to find some sort of therapy, but the idea of seeing a shrink did not exactly appeal to her. Her privacy was too vital, too integral to her existence. Besides, what would she say? "Uh, yeah...I'm passionately, madly in love with my boss, and even though I think the feeling is mutual, he is a total ass who says he doesn't know 'what to do about this.' So I drink to drown the pain." Yeah, right. And if frogs could fly, they wouldn't bump their butts on the ground... So, in lieu of a therapist, cirrhosis of the liver, or wrapping her car around a tree, she decided that she would try dance as therapy. Couldn't hurt, at any rate.

She had chosen a beautiful, haunting Philip Glass piece for her dance. It was called "Facades." Walking over to the stereo, she popped the CD in and as the music of Philip Glass filled the studio, she closed her eyes and started improvising, letting the music move her...

----------

Grissom's mouth was hanging open, and somewhere in the back of his mind, he heard Julie Andrews' voice saying "Close your mouth, Michael. We are not a codfish." He had loved _Mary Poppins _when he was little...

He didn't know how long he had been standing there, watching the angelic figure in the studio. She had been doing some sort of spin thing, then she reached down and rubbed her ankle. He briefly wondered if she was hurt, but then she walked over to the stereo and popped a CD in. She closed her eyes and began dancing, at first aimlessly, and then, seeming to find some sort of order, her body began moving with what could truly be called amazing grace. Gil Grissom was a man known to have a quote for every situation, but he could not have found words lovely enough to describe the sight before his eyes if his very life had depended upon it.

----------

Sara felt the music down to her very soul. She had chosen this piece because it captured almost perfectly how she felt about Grissom. It was haunting, passionate, and inescapably beautiful. With her eyes still closed, she thought of him as she danced. Those beautiful, deep blue eyes, the sound of his voice, the feel of his hands on her, the way he had called her 'honey...'

She felt a single tear slip from beneath her closed eyes. Not bothering to brush it away, she continued to dance through the pain...

----------

As Grissom stood at the window, some distant part of his brain warned him that he needed to move away before she saw him watching her. Their relationship may have gone seriously downhill over the past few months, but he still knew her well enough to know that she would die if she knew anyone—especially he—had been watching her. Even with that knowledge, he could not tear himself away from the beautiful sight he had encountered. He was transfixed.

"She's beautiful, isn't she?" Grissom jumped as Brass spoke up from next to him. Tearing himself away, Grissom scowled at his friend.

"Dammit, Jim, you scared the shit out of me. Where the hell have you been, anyway?"

"At work..." Brass explained, and then paused.

"Gil..."

Grissom rolled his eyes, afraid of what was coming.

"Yes, Jim?"

"Gil...you know I love you like a brother, right?" Seeing Grissom reluctantly nod, he continued. "You know damn well that I wouldn't normally get in your business, but as your friend, I'm going to tell you this now, and you better listen up before it's too late. You have fucked up big time, my friend. You are a total ass when it comes to Sara. Grissom, she is in love with you." Grissom started to interrupt, but Brass cut him off. "No, dammit, it's not some stupid-ass crush. Don't even try that shit with me. She is a grown woman, and she is in love with you. And I know you well enough to know that you're in love with her, too. Hell, Gil, the entire lab knows that." Seeing the look on his friend's face, he continued. "Yeah, Gil, it's that obvious. You're not fooling anyone..._except_ Sara—and if that isn't irony, then I don't know what is. She has no clue. She thinks you hate her. You've pushed her away for so long that I don't know if you'll ever be able to repair the damage, but you better damn well start trying. And if you don't ever listen to another thing I say, you need to listen to that. I don't want to hear any ridiculous excuses about careers and age differences and what's best for her. Your careers will be fine, the age difference matters to absolutely no one except for you, and as far as what's best for her...don't you think that perhaps you should let HER be the judge of that? You are meant to be together, and unless you want to be miserable for the rest of your life, then you need to do something before it's too late. Now, are we going to work out or not?" Brass did an abrupt about-face and left Grissom behind, even more slack-jawed than before.

----------

As the music came to a close, Sara stopped to catch her breath. She was in excellent physical condition for her age, but still...ballet was extremely demanding. She reached for her bottle of water and a towel as her mind started to wander through possible choreography for her "therapy dance," as she had begun to think of it. She wanted it to be a complete catharsis for her, so that each and every time she danced it, she would feel cleansed afterward. 'As if, Sidle,' she thought idly. 'As if you could ever be fully cleansed of your feelings for him...' Putting the bottle down with a sigh, she tossed the towel onto her bag and went back to the center of the wood floor to continue dancing.

----------

Jim and Grissom hit the weight benches again. Grissom was feeling pretty...flustered after seeing Sara, so this time he was really glad to have Brass spotting him. He could just see himself trying to bench press some ridiculous weight, having a daydream about Sara, and then dropping the bar onto his chest and crushing his ribcage. That'd be sure to make for some fun conversation at the office.

Brass was pretty exhausted, too, and they decided to call it quits after only 15 minutes or so more. They gathered up their things and headed to the door, slowing down by the window to the dance studio. Grissom gazed inside at Sara. Her attire didn't leave much to the imagination. She was wearing a classic black leotard and pink tights, but he found it interesting that the feet were cut off the tights. She had pushed them back up to her calves. He found it strangely sexy-looking. Then again, he found _everything _about her sexy-looking. For the first time, he noticed her pointe shoes. They were well-worn. She had obviously been dancing for awhile. 'Duh, Gil,' he muttered in his mind. 'Did you think she just waltzed in here one day and decided she was going to be a ballerina?' Over her leotard and tights she wore a pair of grey shorts. They looked as if they had once been sweatpants, but were cut off at some point. Near the waistband he saw the word_ Harvard _in faded lettering. The shorts were extremely short, and somehow their length—or lack thereof—made those long legs look even longer. Before he could stop himself, he thought of those legs wrapped around—

"Gil!"

"Huh?" All of this had run through his head in less than a second. He snapped his head around to see a smirk on Jim's face.

"You better wipe the drool off your chin and get out of here before she sees you, my friend. You've pissed her off enough lately, don't you think?"

"Uh...yeah. Let's go." Grissom and Brass walked into the bright Vegas sunshine and as they separated to go their respective vehicles, Brass called out to Grissom, "Remember what I said. You'll never forgive yourself if you don't."

Grissom knew he was right.

TBC...


	3. A plan

Sara spent a few more minutes dancing before she decided that she needed to get some sleep or she'd be worthless for shift that night. Her mind wandered as she slowly gathered up her things. 'I wonder what he'd think if he could see me dance. Would he think I was beautiful? Would he see something in me that he didn't see before? Would he realize that I am not just a robot? Would he...fall in love with me?' She paused and shook her head to clear it. 'Stop it, Sara! He will never be in love with you. Sure, he's attracted to you..._that _you're pretty sure of, but it's just some physical sensation that he's too chicken to act on. After all, if he was _really _in love with you...wouldn't he be willing to take the chance? Oh, god, get a hold of yourself.' Taking a deep breath, she willed the impending tears to recede, and walked out to her car.

That day, Sara slept fitfully. That was one good thing about having taken up dance again—as long as she chose to do her dancing after shift, instead of beforehand, she would always sleep like the dead. This was a welcome change. If she had her usual nightmares, she didn't generally remember them. Even after the really bad cases, if she went and danced, she found it only took her slightly longer than usual to fall asleep.

----------

While Sara was encased in the deep cocoon of sleep, Gil Grissom was tossing in his bed a few short miles away. It had been two hours since he had lain down to sleep, and he was no closer to slumber than he had been when he crawled into bed. An angel wearing pink, black, and grey kept floating before his tired eyes. As he thought of her, his body began to betray him. He was in no mood to take a cold shower, so he reminded himself of all the reasons he could not be with her as he willed his body to calm down. 'You're her supervisor,' he told himself. He heard Jim's voice in his mind. "_Your careers will be fine..." _'You are fifteen years older, for God's sake! She could be your daughter!' "_The age difference matters to absolutely no one except for you," _Brass' voice taunted him. Ok, then, he'd fall back on his old standby: 'She can do better than me. It's best for her if we leave it this way...' Once again, his friend's words rang in his ears. "_Don't you think that perhaps you should let HER be the judge of that?" _This gave him pause. He had never really considered that before. Sara's amazing intellect had been one of the original reasons for their unique connection, and it occurred to him that by doubting her ability to make her own decisions, he was in essence doubting her intelligence. 'Maybe Brass had a point with that one. I have no idea why she wants me, and she could definitely do better, but I saw the look in her eyes when I turned down her dinner invitation, and she was really hurt. The point is, she _does _want me. Or she did at one point, anyway.' Grissom rolled over yet again as a realization slammed into him. He had to do something about "this," and he had to do it NOW...before it was too late. He sat up and reached for the phone book as he began to formulate a plan...

----------

Sara awoke with a muffled gasp as a charley horse gripped her left calf muscle. "Unnnhhhhh," she moaned as she massaged her clenching muscle. She had been having them a couple of times a week since she had taken up dancing again—usually after particularly strenuous sessions. She had nearly forgotten how prone to cramping she was. She didn't have problems when she ran, but dancing had always been a shortcut to muscle cramps for her. Sara flopped back on her pillow as the charley horse subsided. The relief was almost palpable. She glanced over at her clock. Almost time to get up anyway. She rolled out of bed and, since she had a little extra time, decided to draw a hot bath to soothe her aching muscles.

She walked into her bathroom, sat down on the edge of the tub and turned the hot water on. She grabbed some raspberry-scented bath salts and poured a handful in, idly watching the water fizz as the salts made contact. She snorted as she thought of Catherine. Catherine was always trying to "girly" Sara up. 'Buy some lacy bras, wear more makeup, splurge on a nice piece of jewelry,' she'd say. 'Get some girly-smelling bubble bath and shower gel. Put some candles around your apartment and you'll see—you'll be a girly-girl in no time flat.' Little did Catherine know that Sara _had _lacy bras, she _did _wear more makeup--if she was going out on a date or something, and that she _did _own some nice jewelry. She just didn't see the point of wearing her $300 pearl earrings to the office where they might get covered in God-only-knows-what. Call it an occupational hazard, if you like. On top of that, she was an absolute sucker for scented bubble bath, shower gel, and candles. She just didn't want anyone at work to know that. Might affect her "tough girl" image...

Running her hands through the water to test it, she decided it was warm enough and slipped out of her clothes and into the tub. As she slid under the water, her eyes fluttered closed and she allowed herself the simultaneous luxury and torture of thinking about the man she loved.

----------

Grissom woke with a start as his alarm sounded. After taking care of the first part of his plan that morning, he had finally gotten some shuteye, but had to set his alarm two hours earlier than usual to make sure he got to the lab before Sara did. Filled with a sudden zeal, he jumped out of bed and headed to the shower. As he stood under the hot spray, he was amazed at how light he felt. He had expected that once he made the decision to pursue a relationship with Sara, he would be filled with a constant nagging doubt about whether or not he had made the right decision. But the only thing that filled him was utter relief...and a tiny nagging fear that he was too late. He reminded himself that if they were truly meant to be, it would all work out.

Stepping out of the shower and getting dressed, Grissom looked at his clock. He had an old friend he needed to see before work—a friend who happened to be an expert calligrapher...

----------

Grissom smiled as pulled up next to the UNLV fine arts building. Walking inside, he went straight to a cramped office on the first floor. Peeking in, he saw his old friend Nancy Krauss waiting for him. "Why, Gil, come in!" she exclaimed happily. "When I got your message I was so intrigued that I've been looking forward to this all day!" Gil stepped in and smiled warmly as he sat down. He had met Nancy several years ago while working on a case involving notes written in fine calligraphy that were left at crime scenes. He had gone to UNLV looking for an expert opinion, and Nancy had been a tremendous help. The two had stayed in contact from time to time since then.

"Thanks for agreeing to see me on such short notice, Nancy. I know this is way past your office hours, but I really appreciate it," Grissom said.

"For the inimitable Gil Grissom? Not a problem at all," Nancy replied. "Now what can I do for you?"

Grissom blushed. "Well...honestly, I just need to borrow your skills. Can you write something for me?"

Nancy grinned mischievously. "Now I'm really curious! Of course, I will. Now, tell me what you need me to say..."


	4. A cryptic message

A/N: I hope everyone is enjoying this so far! I know I am. The reviews have been absolutely encouraging—keep them coming! This is my first fanfic, and it's nice to know that people like what they are seeing!

Sara walked into the locker room and put her stuff down on the bench. When she got her locker open, she was surprised to see something sitting on the top shelf. Looking around, she pulled it out. Seeing no one around, she dared to look down. It was an envelope with her name on it. _Sara _was written in lovely calligraphy, and there was a beautiful hand-drawn border of roses and ivy going around the edges of the envelope. She ran her fingers across the object in her hands. 'What on earth could this be?' she asked herself. From the feel of it, it was very expensive parchment. Swallowing nervously, she lifted the flap and pulled out the card. More thick, luxurious parchment. An identical border of roses and ivy ran around the perimeter of the card. In the middle was a message in the same fine calligraphy:

_Dearest Sara,_

_Tomorrow at 11 am, your presence is requested at_

_the Center for Sports Medicine on University Boulevard._

_Go to the front desk and ask for Amy._

_She will give you further instructions._

Sara was dumbfounded. She had no idea what to make of the cryptic message, but the investigator in her was dying to find out what was going on. She glanced down at the card one more time. It was a really beautiful creation. She tucked it gently into her bag, put her things in her locker, and headed to the break room for assignments.

----------

It was all Grissom could do to suppress a grin when a very distracted-looking Sara Sidle entered the break room. He quickly resumed looking at the papers in his hand. He didn't want her to suspect anything. Not yet. He could tell that her curiosity was aroused by his card, though. He surreptitiously glanced up again. Sara was sitting on the couch rubbing her legs absently. They were sore. Grissom smiled with satisfaction. He had seen her massaging her legs quite often lately, and hadn't really thought anything of it until after he saw her dancing. As he had lain in bed that morning, it had suddenly dawned on him that soreness from ballet was the reason for it. He thought about the plan he had put in motion, and his heart sped up with anticipation. He struggled not to smile as he handed out assignments.

----------

It was all Sara could do to keep her mind on her work that night. She was thankful, for once, to have an open-and-shut case that required more paperwork than anything. Normally, she hated the mind-numbing maze of paperwork that was apparently a required accompaniment of all crimes committed in Clark County (who knew it took so much paperwork to drop dead?), but tonight it offered her a reprieve. Sitting in the layout room with her paperwork, she kept pondering her mysterious message. The Center for Sports Medicine? She was familiar with the facility. It was a huge, gleaming, modern building that housed the best orthopedic specialists and physical therapists in Nevada. They specialized in, duh, sports injuries. She knew that they were the official care providers of UNLV's many sports teams. What could possibly be waiting for her there? She was a pretty religious jogger, but other than the occasional shin splints, she certainly didn't have any problems resulting from running. And even if she did, who would know about it? Better yet, who would know about it, then decide to make an appointment for her, leaving a cryptic message written in beautiful calligraphy on expensive paper in her locker? Sara shook her head. This made no sense.

----------

Grissom sneaked a peak in at Sara as he passed the layout room. He had purposely assigned Sara to the one case that Brass said looked like it was pretty much open-and-shut. He wanted to give her time to think about the surprise waiting for her the next day. As he glanced in the room, he noticed her staring off into space. Grinning, he kept up his pace as he headed toward his office. He was loving every minute of this.

----------

At the end of shift, Sara stuck her head in Grissom's office. "Hey," she said. He looked up from behind the small mountain of files on his desk.

"Hey," he replied. "What's up?"

"Just wanted to let you know I'm leaving."

"Oh. Ok. Hey, I'm sorry about the boring case. Maybe you'll get something better tonight." He smiled apologetically.

"No, no, it's okay. I kind of needed the mental break. It was kind of nice, actually. But don't get any ideas!" she added hastily as he smirked. "I wouldn't want to make a habit of having cases like that every night!"

Grissom laughed. "If you say so, Sara," he said, still smiling. "I'll see you tonight." With that, she turned and left, and Grissom relished the thought of the attention she was going to have lavished on her that day.


	5. Peeping Gil

A/N: You people are going to make me break down and cry from your reviews. I love you all and I want to give you all a huge hug for saying such nice things about my story. I'm having an absolute BLAST writing it, and I plan to keep adding at least a chapter a day, but I'm already on chapter six, and it's only been a day or two since I started, so maybe the pace will be even faster than that. FF is being painfully slow about updates, though, so be patient, please! They're not showing up until 12 or 15 hours after I post them... Now then, let's see...where were we?

As Sara left the Las Vegas Crime Lab, she looked at her watch. She had plenty of time to go to the gym and dance before her "appointment" at the Center for Sports Medicine. She tossed her stuff in her Tahoe and headed toward the gym.

Slipping on her ancient pointe shoes once again, she mentally reminded herself to buy a new pair, now that she knew it wouldn't be a total waste of money. She spent a few minutes warming up, and then stepped over to the stereo. She wanted to launch right into the creation of her own personal "therapy dance." Some ideas had come to her over the course of the previous day, and Sara was anxious to try them out. As the music began to play, she took some timid steps as she tried to get a feel for what she wanted to say with her body and the music. Sticking to strict classical ballet was not going to get it done; she would have to add some modern steps, as well. There was too much pent-up emotion going into this piece. She needed to be able to thrash about a bit, and, strictly speaking, "thrashing about" was looked down upon in traditional ballet.

----------

Grissom couldn't help himself. He had to go the gym. It was not his day to work out with Brass, but he didn't care. Pulling into the parking lot, he saw Sara's Tahoe and took extra care to avoid parking anywhere near it. As he got out of his own vehicle, he glanced around, pulled his baseball cap down, slipped on the Oakleys that had been a Christmas gift from Nick, and walked into the gym.

The receptionist didn't seem to recognize him as he came in, and he breathed a sigh of relief. He didn't want to take any chances of being noticed today. He was wearing a t-shirt, running shorts, and his comfy New Balance tennis shoes. He would blend in, and he would even work out a little bit, just to be safe. But he had to see her dance again. '_Like a moth to the flame,' _he thought wryly.

Stepping to the window that looked out into the dance studio, he saw Sara, and again, he was rendered speechless. Her hair was pinned back, and her body was stunning. She was clad in a pale blue leotard today. It was the kind with no sleeves at all—just spaghetti straps—and she wore no bra underneath it. Grissom took a deep breath, trying to banish the inappropriate thoughts that were suddenly running rampant in his head. She had on the same kind of cut-off pink tights as yesterday, but the Harvard shorts were gone. In their place was a pair of grey cotton running shorts that said **LVPD** in huge black letters on one leg. Grissom smiled and looked down at his own leg, where the letters **LVPD **stared back at him, albeit upside-down. 'We wore the same shorts today,' Grissom thought rather giddily. Turning his head back to Sara—_his _Sara—he realized that the inappropriate thoughts he had had moments earlier were gone. Everything else faded into oblivion in the face of the amazing things she was doing with her body. He looked on in awe as she planted her left foot on the ground and extended her right leg behind her in an arabesque. She was supporting her entire body on one perfectly pointed foot, and her balance was flawless. Her extended hands seemed to be begging for something. She brought her right leg down and began leaping and pirouetting madly. The emotion on her face was almost too much for him to bear. He had never—in all the years he had known her—seen so much emotion from this woman. He was frozen. 'My God,' he thought. 'Where is all of this coming from?'

At that moment, he knew he was doing the right thing. Sara needed him. She needed someone to be strong for her so that she could let her guard down occasionally. She needed to let someone in. He resolved to be that person.

----------

As the music played, Sara gave herself over to it completely. At that moment, the music and her emotions had total control of her body. She simply obeyed. As she reached out into an arabesque, she thought of all that her heart had suffered at the hands of the man she so loved. Her body immediately responded with renewed passion. Bringing her right leg down, she stepped into a combination of leaps and spins, letting all of her emotions out. Her face contorted as she pictured him in her mind's eye. Had any human being ever loved another person as much as she loved him? She had told him in a moment of frustration that if he didn't figure it out what to do about "this" soon, it might be too late. It was a complete lie, but she hoped he wouldn't call her bluff on it. She knew she would wait for him until the day she died. 'Not that it will do any good, Sidle,' she warned herself. 'He doesn't love you.' She wished she could make herself fall out of love with him, but it was hopeless.

The music came to its soft close, and she came to a stop. This piece of music was perfect, really, because it was written in minor mode, and the haunting melody never reached a resolution. Just like she and Grissom.

She glanced at her watch. Just enough time to get home and grab a shower before she was supposed to be at the Center for Sports Medicine. She grabbed her stuff and headed out the door, leaving her CD behind in the stereo.

----------

Despite his intent to work out at least a little bit to blend in, Grissom never even looked at a weight bench or any other piece of equipment in the weight room. He stood back a little bit as he realized Sara was getting ready to leave. As she walked out the door, he realized she'd left her music in the stereo. A smile played on his lips as his curiosity grew. He wanted to know what piece of music had caused her to dance with such passion. He waited a couple of minutes to assure himself that Sara wasn't coming back, and walked into the dance studio. Popping the CD out of the stereo, he looked at the hand-written label: Philip Glass, Facades. Placing the CD back in the player, he committed the composer and title to memory and headed home to his computer.


	6. The appointment

A/N: I wrote this chappie in my head this morning while getting my massage. I hope it comes out as well on paper as it did in my head.:) Seriously, I want to thank everyone for the amazing reviews I have been getting. I started out as an English lit/political science major in college, but I really haven't written anything at all since I switched majors nearly 6 years ago. It's nice to know I can still slop something halfway decent down! :)

Sara took a deep breath as she exited her Tahoe. Looking up at the modern building that housed the Center for Sports Medicine, she wondered what could possibly be waiting for her inside those walls. She glanced down at her watch. Ten 'till 11. Now or never. She walked through the automatic sliding doors to find a bright spacious reception area. As she approached the large check-in counter, an attractive twentysomething brunette glanced up. "May I help you?" she asked with a smile.

"Umm...I hope so. I'm looking for Amy."

The young woman grinned. "Ahh. You must be Miss Sidle."

Sara gave a half-smile. "Yes. Yes, I am. I have no idea why I'm here, though. All I was told was to ask for Amy."

"Well, I'm Amy, and I'm going to take you back to Elizabeth, who will be taking care of you today. Follow me."

Sara raised an eyebrow and followed Amy down a long hallway to what looked like an employee lounge. She poked her head in the door and addressed a petite redhead. "Hi, Elizabeth, this is Sara. She's here for her 11:00 appointment. Sara, this is Elizabeth, the finest massage therapist we have on staff here"

'Massage?!' thought Sara wildly. 'What the hell?'

Elizabeth flashed a brilliant smile, making her green eyes sparkle. "Sara! It's nice to meet you. I've been looking forward to this all day. Please, follow me." As Sara followed Elizabeth out the door, she glanced back at Amy, who grinned and winked. "See you later, Sara," she said.

Sara was flat-out intrigued now. She followed Elizabeth a little further down the hall. Elizabeth turned and opened a door, stepping back to allow Sara to enter first. Sara stepped through the doorway into a dim room. The first thing she noticed was the massage table set up in the middle of the room. On the table lay a bouquet of red roses and...a card. From the looks of it, it was identical to the one she had received the previous night. She stepped to the table and fingered the card as Elizabeth closed the door. She spoke. "Before you open that, let me fill you in. I've been commissioned to give you a 90-minute deep tissue massage, concentrating on your legs and feet. I will also be working on your back and shoulders, but the majority of the session is to be devoted to your lower body. My services have been paid for in full, including gratuity, so you have nothing to worry about there. The roses were delivered this morning, along with the card, and I was instructed to give them to you. Now I'm going to give you a few moments to read your card and disrobe. Undress as much as you are comfortable with, and place your clothes on the hook by the door. I'll be back in a few minutes." With that, Elizabeth exited the room, leaving a gaping Sara Sidle in her wake.

Sara's mind was churning as she opened the card. More flowing calligraphy and roses and ivy adorned the interior.

_Dearest Sara,_

_This is my gift to you. I hope you enjoy being pampered._

_You will receive information on your next gift shortly._

_All my love._

Dearest Sara? Next gift? All my love? Her head was spinning as she placed the card back in its envelope and began to undress. As she stripped down to her panties, she noticed the wonderful scent of the room. Lavender...mmm... Soft relaxing music was flowing from hidden speakers, and the only light in the room was coming from candles. She climbed onto the table, placed her head in the headrest, and pulled the sheet up over her back. She had never had a massage before, and if this one was free, then she was going to enjoy it.

----------

Gil Grissom strode purposefully through the doors of the Center for Sports Medicine and made a beeline for the reception desk. Amy looked up at him and grinned. "Nice to see you again so soon, Dr. Grissom. What can I do for you?" Grissom handed her a card and winked.

"I forgot to leave this with you earlier. Please give it to her when she's finished...and remember, don't answer any questions! She'll probably grill you, but don't let anything slip."

"Absolutely not, Dr. Grissom. This is all so romantic—I wouldn't dream of doing anything to mess it up. Now get out of here before you risk being seen!"

With that, Grissom hightailed it out of there.

----------

Sara thought she was going to die from happiness if the massage got any better. Elizabeth's skilled hands were kneading every hint of tension out of her tired muscles. She had spent a half hour working knots out of Sara's back and shoulders before moving to Sara's lower body. Once there, she paid special attention to Sara's tight hamstrings and calves. Sara was beginning to wonder how she had survived her life to this point without a massage when Elizabeth began working on her feet. Sara winced to herself. Her feet were not the picture of beauty right now. She had begun to form rough callouses from her daily ballet habit, and her toes had scabs from where they had bled after her first hardcore session en pointe. She hoped Elizabeth was not grossed out. Elizabeth, for her part, was nonplussed by the whole thing. She had noticed Sara tense up when she touched her foot. She quickly reassured her. "Sara, don't worry. Your feet are gorgeous in comparison with some of the athletes I work on. You should see the feet on the UNLV women's basketball team!" Sara laughed out loud despite herself. Elizabeth continued. "I'm guessing by the placement of the callouses on your feet that you are a dancer."

Sara was shocked. "Uh...yeah. Well, sort of. I danced until college, and just recently took it back up for stress relief." She felt odd admitting this to a total stranger. Hell, her co-workers, who were her closest friends, didn't even know. There was no way she was going to tell them, but she didn't see the harm in discussing it with a total stranger. She let her face drop back into the headrest as Elizabeth continued rubbing the aches from her body. Sara was a little surprised that such strength could reside in such a petite woman. She was definitely amazing at her job.

The massage came to its end and Elizabeth patted Sara's back and slipped outside so Sara could dress. When she re-entered the room, she saw Sara sitting on the massage table with a contemplative look on her face. Sara asked Elizabeth a surprising question. "Um, Elizabeth, at the risk of being tacky...how much did that cost?"

Elizabeth smiled. She couldn't wait to see Sara's reaction when she answered. "Well...with the gratuity added in, the total cost was about $275." She giggled at Sara's expression. Her mouth kept opening and closing, as if she wanted to say something, but didn't know what. Finally, she managed to squeak, "And someone paid that much for me to have a massage?"

"Yup," Elizabeth nodded.

"Do you know who it was?"

"Nope. I don't deal with billing. The front desk takes care of all that." She couldn't help giggle again as Sara hopped down off the table. Sara turned to Elizabeth and thanked her once more, profusely, for the "most relaxing 90 minutes" of her life. She then gathered her roses and card before heading back down the hallway toward the front desk. She had one or two very important questions to ask Amy.

Amy looked up at her with twinkling eyes as she approached. "And how did your massage go, Miss Sidle?"

Sara moaned in answer. "It was absolutely...amazing. I don't think I'll be able to live without getting one of these every week or so, but after the price she just quoted me in there..." Her voice trailed off. "Speaking of prices...how was this paid for?"

"Credit card," Amy replied succinctly.

Sara's eyes gleamed. "Would you give me the name on the credit card?"

"I was told that you would probably ask me for that information, and I've been instructed not to tell you. Sorry," she added, with a lilt in her voice that indicated that she was not sorry at all. Sara groaned good-naturedly. She could tell Amy was enjoying being a part of the big secret. She decided to try a different tactic.

"Well...have you seen my, uh, benefactor?" She had no idea what to call the mysterious person. "In other words, has he been here in person?" She was going to go out on a limb and assume it was a "he." Besides, maybe if she said that, Amy would let something slip. No such luck.

"I never said your benefactor was a he, and yes, he or she has been here. Unfortunately, I'm not at liberty to give you any more details. However," she said with a gleam in her eye as she reached for something on the desk, "perhaps you'll be able to find some answers in this." With that, she handed Sara the card Grissom had left for her. Sara looked down at the now-familiar calligraphy as a small smile tugged the corners of her mouth upward. Same parchment envelope, same flowing script reading _Sara_, same rose and ivy border. She was anxious to see what was inside. She looked up at Amy, smiling, and said, "Thanks for everything, Amy. It's been a wonderful experience." Amy smiled back and said, "I'm glad I got to be a part of it."

Sara strolled out to her Tahoe and blushed as she noticed the single daisy stuck beneath her windshield wiper. 'Wow,' she thought. 'Someone is certainly going out of their way to treat me like a queen today.' She glanced around the parking lot for any clues, not really expecting to see any. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Climbing into her car, she finally allowed herself to open the card.

_Dearest Sara,_

_Your next gift will be waiting for you in your locker tonight._

_I know you are curious about all of this, but please be patient._

_I will reveal myself in time. Right now is about you._

_All my love._

Sara's heart fluttered. She had been trying to play this off as someone just being really nice to her, but the last two notes had cinched it. She had a secret admirer. She had no idea who it could possibly be. 'In an ideal world, it would be _him,_' she thought sadly, thinking of Grissom. But she knew better. Gil Grissom would never crawl far enough out of his shell to do something like this. 'Oh, god...I hope it's not Greg!' she thought with a shudder. Then she thought better of it. Sure, Greg had a huge crush on her—everyone in the lab knew that—but there was no WAY he would drop close to $300 on a massage. Coffee? Maybe. A massage? Not happening. But if not Greg, then who? Nick, maybe? Sara wrinkled her nose. Nicky was her best friend, but eww! Besides, she knew that he didn't feel that way about her. They were like brother and sister.

She started her Tahoe as she pondered the situation. She knew she should be ready to go to bed at this point, but her mind was fired up. She pulled out of the parking lot and headed to the dance supply store for her first new pair of pointe shoes in nearly fifteen years.

TBC...


	7. A gift

Sara walked into the lab that night with a bounce in her step. She hated to admit it to herself, because it was so _un-_Sara, but she was dizzy with excitement. She absolutely could not wait to open her locker and see what was inside. She was, of course, curious as to how her admirer had gained access to her locker, but it wouldn't be _that_ hard to do. It would be easy enough if her admirer were a co-worker (which she was fairly certain it was; after all, she didn't really _know_ anyone outside of work...)—it's not like locker combinations were closely guarded federal secrets or anything. They were all on file somewhere, and it would be an easy enough to task to dig the information up.

She desperately hoped that there would be no one in the locker room, because she didn't want to have to explain anything. She had a feeling she would never live it down. Finding herself as a target of good-natured teasing was nothing new to Sara Sidle, but still, it got old from time to time, even though she knew it was the result of great affection on the part of her co-workers. Walking into the locker room, she breathed a sigh of relief when she was no one around. She practically skipped to her locker and spun the combination eagerly. Opening the door, she looked inside and blinked in disbelief. That could not be what she thought it was. She would recognize that label anywhere, but it simply could not be. She bent down and looked closer. It was. Reaching in, she pulled the item out and inspected it closely to make sure her eyes were not playing tricks on her. She read the label carefully. _Champagne Cuvée Dom Perignon Vintage. _Sitting back on the bench behind her, her cheeks puffed out as she blew out a breath she didn't know she was holding. Whoa. A bottle of Dom Perignon...unbelievable. The stuff ran nearly $200 a bottle. She had never tasted it before. Coming to her senses, she looked back into her locker to see if there was any accompanying explanation. There, lying on the floor of her locker was the card. She opened it, and read the message carefully.

_My dearest Sara,_

_Just another small token of my affection._

_Take this home with you and tuck it away._

_We'll open it together—soon._

_More to come tomorrow. Have a wonderful evening. I'll be thinking of you._

_All my love._

Sara smiled a quiet smile as she imagined who her admirer might be, but it quickly faded when she realized that it didn't matter. It would never be the one person she wanted it to be. Would it? Sara dismissed the thought. This was too unlike Grissom. They barely even spoke these days; going from 0 to 60 in no time flat wasn't his style. If he had finally figured out what to do about "this," she knew that his advances would be a lot more subtle. Her shoulders slumped in dejection. 'Still,' she thought to herself. 'What a fantastic, romantic gift. Might as well enjoy this while it lasts.' She placed the bottle of champagne back in her locker, along with the card, and headed to the break room for assignments.

----------

As Sara walked into the break room, Grissom noticed that she seemed totally normal. She didn't seem distracted at all, and for a moment, he wondered if she had seen his gift, but he had watched her enter the locker room. He knew she was probably mulling the whole thing over in her mind. She was showing that tough exterior again. She was unwilling to wear her emotions on her sleeve. He used to appreciate that quality in her, but now...he wanted her to know that she could let her guard down from time to time. He wanted to hold her and protect her. He felt his heart swell and had to remind himself to be patient. He would reveal himself to her soon enough, but he had to do this in truly grand fashion, to assuage all her doubts about whether or not he was serious.

He cleared his throat and started handing out assignments. He had purposely paired himself with Sara tonight so he could gauge her attitude about this whole thing. If he suspected it was going wrong in any way, shape, or form, he would immediately drop the act and tell her everything. He couldn't risk losing her just for the sake of trying to sweep her off her feet. He _wanted _to sweep her off her feet to prove to her how serious he was, but not at the risk of her emotional well-being.

"Warrick, Catherine, you've got a home invasion in Desert Shores. Nick, smash-and-grab out in Henderson. Sara, you're with me—we've got 2 DBs at the Bellagio." At this, Sara's head snapped up in shock. He was actually pairing them together? Hell had indeed frozen over, she thought mildly.

----------

Grissom stole a glance at Sara as she sat in the floor of the hotel suite, bagging evidence. It was your garden variety murder-suicide scenario, but Sara was diligently preserving evidence, nonetheless. God, he loved watching her work. He loved watching her do anything. They had spoken very little that evening, but had worked in a fairly comfortable silence, sensing each other's moves and thoughts, and responding in kind. It seemed like old times. Except now that he had admitted his feelings to himself, he found it painfully hard to be near her and not act on it. Well, ok, it had always been hard to be near her and not act on it, but now it was just...unbearable. Two more nights, he told himself. Just hang on for two more nights. With a barely suppressed sigh, he got back to work.

Later, on the drive back to the lab, he decided to attempt a conversation. Taking a deep breath, he prayed he wouldn't regret this. Every time he opened his mouth around her, he seemed to screw up. Steeling himself, he forced his voice to sound casual. "I just wanted to say I'm sorry that we haven't been..._right_...lately. I know that it's entirely my fault, and I'd like to work on it. Is that okay with you?" He gripped the steering wheel and glanced over at her as he waited for her answer. To his surprise, her eyes were filled with quiet surprise. She hadn't expected this.

"Wow, Grissom. I, uh, I don't know what to say. Yeah, I'd like that." She drew in a deep breath and took a chance. "I've missed you."

Grissom sagged with relief. "I've missed you, too," he admitted with a little smile. Sara thought to herself at that moment that she could see exactly what he must have looked like as a small boy. The rest of the drive was spent in pleasant silence.

When Grissom and Sara arrived back at the lab, he headed into his office to tackle some paperwork. As he absentmindedly signed forms, he considered the evidence he had before him as it pertained to Sara. First of all, he deduced that she was enjoying his little gifts. She was playing along with everything. If she had been irritated or freaked out by the whole thing, she could have easily figured out who her admirer was. There were any number of clues to lead her back to him, not the least of which was the fingerprints he had left all over everything. If she had any doubts, all she would have to do was dust the champagne bottle or the cards, run the prints through AFIS, and boom, Gil Grissom would pop up. She had obviously not done this, so she must be enjoying the game. Second, she had not given him any indications, positive or negative, during their case that night that would clue him into anything out of the ordinary. So he judged that her emotional state was rather stable. He knew from his visit to the Center for Sports Medicine that morning that she had indeed taken advantage of the massage, so he knew she'd been getting the cards. He leaned back in his chair and folded his hands. Yes, everything seemed to be going as planned. He could proceed with his next step. But for that, he would need Catherine...


	8. Catherine

A/N: Seriously, guys, you are overwhelming me with your reviews. You are making me feel so loved. And I'm really, really glad you guys are having fun with this, because I know I am. I know it's been nearly 24 hours since I updated, but I've had to work on a couple of other projects. My husband and I own a multimedia development company, and in exchange for letting me be a "stay at home wife," I have to help him write ad copy sometimes. So anyway, sorry! And I also want to apologize for the last chapter. I was dead tired while writing it, and it was total crap. Not the ideas, but the pitiful job I did getting them down in writing. Hopefully, now that I've recharged a bit, things will come out more smoothly for me! Now...on with the story!

Grissom couldn't help but groan inwardly when he thought of all the hell he was going to catch from Catherine when he commissioned her help. He knew she would be totally on board with the idea once she got all the teasing and needling out of her system, but he dreaded it nonetheless. The next step in his plan was totally out of his league, though, and he needed her, so he would just have to suck it up. Besides, it was worth it...for Sara. With a quiet sigh, he picked up the phone and paged Catherine. A few minutes later she was standing in his doorway. "What's up?" she asked.

"Come in and shut the door behind you," he replied cryptically. Catherine raised an eyebrow at him as she slowly sauntered in. When the door was closed and she was comfortably seated, she eyed him, waiting for him to start talking. Grissom drew in a deep breath.

"Did anyone see you coming in here?"

"Uh....no. I don't think so. Why?" she queried, her curiosity piqued.

"I'll explain everything in a second. But first, if anyone asks you, we were just going over a case, all right?"

Catherine was really getting annoyed. "Grissom, will you just tell me what's going on here?"

Grissom knew it was now or never. He glanced down at his desk and fiddled with a pen as he began to speak. "Uh, Catherine...it's about Sara. I need—"

"No way," she said, cutting him off. She held her hands up, palms facing him, to say that she was not interested in where this was going. "Grissom, I'm not touching it with a ten-foot pole. Until you get your head out of your ass and figure out what the hell you're going to do about this—"

This time it was Grissom who did the interrupting. With a red face, he snapped, "Dammit, Catherine, will you let me finish?" Catherine sat back, shocked.

"Yeah. Sure."

"Ok, thank you." Settling down, Grissom tried again. "As I was saying, it's about Sara. I am _aware,_" he said pointedly, "that I have been a complete ass. I've been a total chicken about my feelings for Sara, but I can't ignore them anymore, and I've decided to go for it." He paused. Damn, this was hard. Catherine was probably his closest friend, but it was just so _uncomfortable_ discussing things like this with her. He risked a quick glance up at Catherine. She was staring at him with her mouth slightly open and her eyebrows raised. A strand of strawberry blonde hair had fallen into her eye, but she didn't seem to notice. She waited for him to continue. Taking another deep breath, he quickly filled her in on all that he had done, from the notes to the massage to the bottle of Dom Perignon. He did not, however, mention her dancing. He knew Sara would want that to stay private. As he finished his speech, he looked at Catherine and waited for a response. After what seemed like years, she looked at him and said, "Damn, Gil. Dom Perignon? That stuff is primo!" Grissom laughed and relaxed. Leave it to Catherine to recognize his discomfort and do something to relieve it. She was a good friend. She continued, "Ok...so what does all this have to do with me?"

Grissom proceeded to tell her about the last part of his plan. When he finished, he said, "This is where you come in. I need your keen fashion sense. We're obviously going to need clothes for this—nice clothes. I don't have anything appropriate, and I have no idea what she has. So...since you have tonight off, I want you to go home and get a few hours of sleep, and then go shopping for us." He reached for his wallet and pulled out his credit card. Handing it over to her, he said, "And Catherine, I don't care where you go or what you buy. Spend whatever you need in order to make this a night she will never forget. I mean that," he said sincerely, locking her eyes with his. "I've screwed around for too long on this. Money is not an issue here."

Catherine raised one very skeptical eyebrow. "Ok, let me clarify this, Gil, because I do _not _want to bear the brunt of your wrath if I mess up. When you say that money is no object, you do realize that I am going to immediately head over to Via Bellagio and spend you into oblivion at places like Armani, Prada, and Gucci, right?" She was staring at him, giving him that patented "Catherine" look that screamed skepticism. She was in for a surprise, though.

"Yes, I am aware of that. That is exactly what I am asking you to. I want you to go wherever you want to and spend whatever you need to in order to make both Sara and me look like a million bucks." He smiled faintly. "Although, I have to admit, I'll need a lot more help than Sara will. Oh, yeah, and don't forget accessories. Jewelry, perfume, whatever. Oh, and get me some cologne. Got it?"

"I think you've lost your mind, but I've got it. There's only one problem...I don't know what size Sara is.I'd guess that she's either a size 4 or 6, but I can't be sure, and I don't want to screw this up. And as far as shoe size goes, I haven't got a clue." She looked at Grissom questioningly. "How am I going to figure that out?"

He sat thinking for a moment. Suddenly his face brightened. "Hey! Just about everybody keeps a spare key here just in case they get locked out..."

"Gil, no. I can't invade her house. She'd die. Besides, what if she comes home and catches me?" Grissom was busily digging a drawer. He emerged triumphantly with a key and shoved it into Catherine's hand.

"Look, you're only going in long enough to look in her closet and find out what size she is. It's not like you're going to snoop through all her stuff. And besides, you've wrapped up your case, so go now, while she's still at work, and no one will ever be the wiser. And if she starts to head home early for some reason, I'll call your cell and tell you to get your ass out of there." Catherine looked unconvinced, and Grissom pleaded with her, a note of desperation in his voice. "Please, Cath. Please do this for me." His blue eyes were huge, and Catherine knew this must be really hard for him. She relented. "Ok, ok, I'll do it."

A huge, very un-Grissom-like grin spread over her friend's face.

"Thanks, Cath. You have no idea how much I appreciate this."

She was shaking her head as she walked toward the door. "Just make sure I get to be a bridesmaid in the wedding, ok?" she called over her shoulder. As she turned and glanced back at him from the doorway, she couldn't help but grin at the sight of one very red-faced Gil Grissom.

'This is gonna be too much fun,' she thought. She quickened her pace, excited at the prospect of a shopping expedition. Stopping in her tracks, she turned on her heel and walked back to Grissom's office. Poking her head in, she said, "Uh, Grissom?"

He looked up in surprise. "Yeah?"

"In all the excitement, I forgot to get your measurements. I can't exactly shop for you without knowing what size you are." Grissom looked at her sheepishly.

"Uh, yeah, I guess I left that part out. Sorry," he said as he grabbed a sheet of paper. "What all do you need?"

"Uhh...neck size, shirt size, jacket size, pant size...and don't forget length. Oh, yeah, and shoe size. Yup, that should do it." Grissom shook as his head as he jotted down the requested information.

"It sure requires a lot of numbers to get dressed," he said as he finished. Sliding the paper toward her, he said, "The neck size might be off by a half inch or so—I haven't checked lately—but everything else should be accurate. Now get out of here!" he said with a smile.

Catherine ducked back out of the office, looking down at the proffered sheet of paper. Oh, yes, he was going to look very nice indeed by the time she finished with him.


	9. The Bugman's new clothes

**A/N**: Sorry it has taken me so long to get this chapter up, guys. As you well know, I'm not extremely concerned with the fact that Grissom and Sara are so OOC that we're practically living in an alternate universe here, but I didn't want to go so over-the-top that the story ended up being ridiculous. There's a fine line between wishful thinking where G/S are concerned and just being so ludicrous that you end up laughing at it because it's so stupid. At any rate, I've spent a lot of time trying to make this sound decent. In my opinion, it's still pretty crappy, but I'm tired of messing with it, so here goes. I want to move on, and you probably do, too. So if this is just too over-the-top for you, my apologies. I still like the overall storyline, though...

**Oh, and one other important note:** If you think the idea of Grissom having insane amounts of money is ridiculous, think again. A very close friend of my parents was a bachelor until he was 50. He had quietly tucked away almost everything he made over the years, and when he got married, he built his bride a 4000 square foot house...and paid cash for it. It's amazing how much money a man has when he doesn't have a wife. So there. That part of this story I did NOT pull out of my ass.

At the end of shift, Sara opened her locker up to find another card, this time taped to the inside of the door. Opening it up, she read the words,

_Dearest Sara,_

_At 9 am tomorrow, be at your apartment, ready for a day of pampering._

_You deserve it._

_All my love._

Sara shook her head as she looked down at the card in her hand. 'A day of pampering?' she wondered. 'Whatever,' she decided. 'I guess I'll find out soon enough...' She delicately placed the bottle of champagne and the two cards in her bag and headed out to her car.

Grissom pulled into the gym parking lot, relieved to see that Sara had beaten him there. He didn't want to take the chance that she might recognize his Denali as she pulled in. He found a space at the other end of the parking lot from where she was parked, and headed in to the weight room. Sneaking a peek through the window as he passed it, his eyes met a puzzling sight. Sara was standing by the barre with a pair of perfect pink pointe shoes, slamming them against the barre like she was mad at the world. Grissom was alarmed. 'Oh, no,' he groaned to himself. What had made her so mad? Then with no warning, Sara turned away from the barre, and her face was the picture of calm. Bunching his eyebrows together, Grissom tried to decipher what he'd just seen. She held one of the shoes in her hands, bending it a little lengthwise. She did the same with the other shoe, then sat and placed them on her feet.

Sara stood at the barre, slamming her new pointe shoes against it. 'Damn, I hate breaking in new shoes,' she thought to herself. It had to be done, though. When she thought she had beaten them into submission, she turned from the barre and flexed the arch of the each of the shoes in her hands. 'There. Maybe that will be good enough for a start,' she mused, sitting down to slip them on her feet. When she finished adjusting the ribbons, she stood and began stretching.

Grissom had finally decided that whatever Sara was doing had something to do with the ballet shoes. 'Breaking them in, maybe?' he wondered idly. As he was contemplating this, she began stretching, and for the first time, he noticed her attire. Nothing nearly so revealing today as yesterday, but in a way, it was just that much more sensual. She was wearing a black, long sleeved leotard with a scoop neck. She had on the usual tights with no feet, but instead of shorts, she was wearing some sort of black, gauzy wrap thing around her hips. As he watched her stretch, he noted that she looked every bit the elegant prima ballerina. The long sleeves of her leotard only accentuated the long lines of her body. With her hair pulled up, her neck was the very picture of grace. Once again, he stood transfixed as he gazed at her. This time, though, there was a tiny voice of reason in the back of his mind that told him to get the hell out of there before she saw him. It was all he could do to drag his body away from that window, but he knew the voice was right. The last thing he needed was for her to freak out on him. He decided to forego the workout and get the hell out of dodge.

At 6 pm, Catherine stood at Grissom's front door, arms loaded with packages. She prayed he was awake as she rang the bell. A few moments later the door opened and Grissom appeared, wearing sweatpants and a UNLV t-shirt. He glanced at the bags in her arms and cocked his head to the side, grinning. "Looks like you did some serious shopping," he said. Catherine breezed past him into the townhouse. She set the bags down in the foyer, wincing. "My arms are killing me," she muttered. She turned around to face Grissom, who was curiously poking at one of the bags. Slapping his hand away, she growled, "Quit that! You can't see that until it's on her!" He backed away, properly chastised, but not before seeing a shoebox sticking out of one of the bags.

"Jimmy Choo..." he mused. "Sarah Jessica Parker would be proud, Cath." He stood there grinning at her. Catherine gaped at him.

"Grissom. Do _not _tell me you watch _Sex and the City._"

Grissom held up his hands in a defensive gesture. "Hey, it's a very well-written and intelligent show. I've been known to catch an episode or two," he grinned.

Catherine rolled her eyes heavenward. "Dear God, I no longer know this man," she said aloud. Grissom laughed at her obvious state of shock.

Catherine pulled herself together and got to the point. "Whatever, Gil. I'm not sure I want to know any more about your TV viewing habits. I'm actually sort of surprised your TV ever leaves the Discovery channel. But getting back to why I'm here, I need you to try on your stuff to make sure it fits. If there's anything wrong, I still have time to make the necessary exchanges." She grabbed a garment bag and shoved it at him. "Here, go try this on." Grissom looked at the name on the elegant garment bag in his hand.

"Armani? Wow, Cath...Not bad," he mused. Catherine looked at him warily, and started pulling receipts out of her pocket.

"Grissom...I..." Catherine faltered.

"Catherine, for the last time, I do not care how much money you spent. Don't worry about it." Catherine leaned her head to the side, narrowed her eyes and decided to try him. Before she lost her nerve, she spat out the total. Grissom nodded. "Ok," he said. Catherine blinked.

"Ok?? **_OK_**? Gil, I go out flashing your credit card all over Vegas like a New York socialite and all you can say is OK?? How on earth can you afford that?"

Grissom looked at her over the top of his glasses. Taking on the tone of someone explaining something to a small child, he said, "Catherine. I'm 48 years old. I've never been married and I have no children. I own a small townhouse which is completely paid for. I drive a company vehicle. I practically never leave my job, which means I don't spend a lot of free time on outside interests. What exactly is it that you think I do with my paycheck every month?" Catherine looked at him. She'd never thought about it before, but it made sense. If he even put away _half_ of what he had earned in his adult life, Grissom was probably loaded. Grissom continued. "And besides," he said softly, looking down at the carpet, "she's worth it." Catherine didn't know whether to laugh or cry. It was breathtakingly sweet to see Gil acting this way—finally—over Sara, but it was just so sudden and so...out of character that it was amusing to watch. She finally decided on a sweet smile as she placed a hand on his arm.

"She's gonna love you for it, Gil," she said quietly. "Now, get back there and try on your new suit!" Grissom went obediently, lugging the garment bag along with him.

Five minutes later he stuck his head out into the living room, grinning. "Are you ready for this?"

Catherine beamed. "Bring it on, Bugman!"

Her jaw dropped as Grissom stepped into the living room. He looked like he had just stepped from the pages of a magazine. Her eyes went up and down his figure in disbelief. "Damn, I'm good," she whispered. At this, Grissom let out a laugh.

"I take it you like what you see?" he asked with a waggle of his eyebrows.

"Holy shit, Gil. I think I made a mistake. I can't let you near Sara while you look this good. You're going to have to beat that girl off you with a stick." Catherine could not believe that the man standing in front of her was the same guy that was standing in sweats and an old t-shirt not five minutes before. The suit was cut perfectly on him. She had chosen a dark gray (almost black) 3-button suit and paired it with a crisp white dress shirt, complete with French cuffs. The _piece de la resistance_ was a tie with alternating steel-blue and navy blue stripes--selected specifically for its ability to set off his eyes. And set them off it did. His blue eyes were practically popping out of his head. He smirked as he held out his wrists to her.

"Got cuff links for these, I presume?"

Catherine managed to drag her eyes over to the bags in front of her and began digging. After a few moments, she emerged with a small box, and handed it to him. "Think these'll do?" she asked. He opened the box to find a pair of exquisite onyx and sterling silver cuff links.

He sighed playfully. "Ahh, yeah, well, since you cheaped out on me, I guess I'll have to make them work..."

Catherine bent down again. This time she came up with two more small boxes. "Watch," she said, handing him a long slim Gucci box. "Cologne," she said as she handed him the other item. Grissom popped the lid off of the Gucci box and examined the piece of jewelry before him. Stainless steel with a solid black face. Very elegant. Very Grissom.

"Wow, Catherine, I really like this. You made an excellent choice."

She agreed. "When I saw it, it just looked like you. I figured you'd like it. Now...the cologne is another matter. You'll have to spray some on and let it sit for awhile before you can really know how it's going to smell on you. Here," she said, spraying it on. She continued, "I went with an old standby, though, so I think you'll be in the clear." He held up the bottle.

"Eternity," he said, smiling. "Actually, Catherine, I used to wear Eternity, so, yeah, I know it works well on me."

She gave him a lopsided grin. "Actually, that's why I chose it. It smells great on everyone. I think _every _man has worn it at some point or another." She paused and then continued. "Well, Grissom, we've established that you look fantastic, so you better get out of those clothes before you get something on them. Go hang everything up very nicely, just like it was to begin with, and then come back out here and answer a couple of more questions for me."

"Yes, Mother," Grissom said playfully as he headed obediently toward his bedroom.

When he emerged a few minutes later, Catherine could smell his cologne.

"Mmm," she said, closing her eyes. "That smells good. Yeah, she's going to like that. Excellent, we have that covered, so that only leaves one thing. How do you want all this packaged for her? How are you planning on delivering it to her?"

Grissom gave this some thought. "Umm...did the nice little designer clothing come in nice little designer clothing boxes?" Seeing Catherine's nod, he said, "Well, then, I have the perfect idea. Do you still have my credit card?"

"Yeah...I was thinking of going on another shopping spree, now that I know you have all this expendable cash lying around," she joked.

"Actually, yeah, I do want you to buy something for yourself, Cath." Seeing her look of protest, and hearing her quick cry of, "I was only kidding, Griss!" he put up his hands to stop her. "Catherine, I can't begin to thank you enough for doing this. I want you to treat yourself. You deserve it," he said softly, giving her an awkward little hug. As he began to fill her in on what he wanted her to do with Sara's gifts, she knew he was serious—he really did appreciate all that she had done.

When he was done, she spoke up nervously. "Uhh, Griss, there's one other thing. Umm...I bought her some lingerie," she said, face reddening. She had to laugh at the absurdity of the situation--an ex-stripper getting flustered talking about lingerie. She quickly continued before Grissom could say anything. "I know that might have been a little...presumptuous, and I hope you're not mad at me, but it just seemed like a waste to go to all the trouble of getting you two dressed to the nines and then for her not to have...anything pretty when...if..." she stopped and timidly glanced up at Grissom. He was smiling, a slight blush creeping up his cheeks.

"Thanks, Cath," he said quietly. "Actually, that was a really sweet idea...and I think you're right. I mean, who knows if it will go that far, but if it does...you're right. The only thing I'm afraid of is scaring her to death if we leave it with the other things..." his voice trailed off. Suddenly his face brightened. "I've got an idea. Why don't you let me hang on to the lingerie, and if the, ah, occasion, ah, arises" ('Bad choice of words, Grissom! Bad choice of words!' he screamed internally), "then I'll take the opportunity to give it to her. That way nobody gets freaked out or pressured, but she'll have something pretty to wear if the opportunity presents itself." He was glad he chose better wording that time.

Catherine smiled. "Sounds perfect!"


	10. The Venetian

**Really strange A/N: **I have apparently inspired myself. I am sitting here writing in...my pointe shoes. I'm dying here, people. But what's really funny is that the first part of my story turned out to be entirely accurate, even though I didn't try to dance again until after I already had 7 or 8 chapters under my belt. When I first got them on, all I could do was a few crappy looking pique turns and a really lame arabesque. I mean, I can stand around on my toes all day long, but when it comes to actually doing stuff, I am so very SOL! It's gotten better in the last day or so, though! At any rate, I am just amused by the fact that I haven't danced since my freshman year of college (7 years!), and here I am—I'll probably break an ankle before it's over with, but whatever. Oh, yeah, one more thing. The story's just starting to get interesting!

The rest of that day passed relatively uneventfully for Sara. When she left the gym after dancing, she went home and fell into bed. She was tired, but it took a while for sleep to come to her. She couldn't get Grissom off her mind. Not that _that _was particularly unusual, but instead of the coulda-woulda-shoulda game she usually played with herself, she kept replaying and analyzing their surprising conversation from the previous evening. 'He wants to work on it,' she thought in amazement. Every time she thought about it, her hopes went through roof—until she remembered that in typical Grissom style, he had not made it clear in the least _what _exactly he wanted to work on. She blew a huge sigh through her lips, wondering exactly what he wanted. 'I know what _I_ want, Grissom. When are you going to figure out what _you_ want?' she thought in despair. When he had turned to her and made that shocking statement, she had almost dared to believe that he was behind all the gifts and mystery cards. After all, who else could it be? But the more she thought about it, the more she realized that it simply could not be. Grissom would never make such a dramatic shift in behavior. Maybe it _was _Greg, after all. Sara crinkled her nose at the idea. Greg was cute, but so young...and immature. Compared to Grissom, everyone was young and immature. She rolled her eyes at herself. 'God, Sara, stop thinking it to death. You're turning into a clone of Grissom.' With a groan, she rolled over and pushed everything out of her mind until she was sound asleep.

----------

Shift that night was actually...boring, for once. The Clark County criminal element seemed to be taking the night off. Everyone took the opportunity to catch up on paperwork and pull out those particular cold cases that haunted them.

At 4 am, Sara poked her head into Grissom's office. "Knock, knock," she said. Looking over the top of his glasses, he beckoned her in. She walked triumphantly to his desk with an armload of paperwork. Giving him the famous Sara Sidle Smile, she unceremoniously dumped it on his desk. "Finishing paperwork is a beautiful thing," she declared. "All these puppies need is your signature, and they'll be good to go."

Pulling off his glasses, Grissom pinched the bridge of his nose. "Ugh," he muttered. "My idea of Hell is paperwork for eternity." He looked around at the stacks of files and papers on his desk as Sara giggled.

"Hey, you're the one who wanted to be a supervisor," she teased, ignoring his withering glare.

Grissom rubbed his eyes and looked at the clock. Cocking his head to the side, he said, "Hey, since tonight's your night off anyway, why don't you go ahead and get out of here. It's only a few hours early, and that way you can get some extra sleep and make the most of your night off." She looked at him curiously, and he frantically hoped he hadn't said too much. She started to argue, but he held up his hand. "Sara, think of it this way. It's a dead night, and you've got nothing to do. You know you're going to be maxed out on overtime by the end of the month anyway, so why don't you save up a few hours now so you can work more when we actually need you?" He sat back, knowing he had won. She couldn't argue with reason.

She relented; his logic was sound. "Well...ok. I guess that makes sense. Besides, I _am_ tired," she admitted with a shy smile. "Yeah, thanks, Griss. I'll see you later, ok?"

'Yes, you will...You have no idea,' he thought to himself as he watched her walk out the door.

----------

Sara was secretly thrilled that Grissom suggested she go home early. She was glad she had gotten her paperwork out of the way, but she had been bored to tears during shift. In addition, she had no idea what was in store for her at 9 am, and she wanted a chance to calm her nerves and unwind before it happened. She hadn't been instructed to go anywhere--just be at her apartment and be ready to be pampered. She couldn't even begin to guess what that meant, and that made her a little nervous. She felt like she had been in control of the situation until now. But now things were going to happen on her turf. She didn't necessarily feel scared--just a little nervous. Her investigative curiosity had gotten the better of her; she had to admit that she was going to see this thing through. But in the interest of safety, she reasoned, it would be a good idea to keep her service weapon nearby.

----------

Sara was pacing her living room when the doorbell rang at precisely 9 am. Taking a deep breath, she walked to the door and opened it. Standing in front of her was a man dressed in a chauffeur's uniform. She looked past him at the parking lot and noticed the sleek black limousine waiting. The chauffeur cleared his throat and spoke. "Miss Sidle, I presume?" Sara nodded. The man continued. "Good morning, ma'am. I'll be taking you to your destination. You will need to bring the bottle of champagne you were given, as well as a small overnight bag with your toiletries. That is all you will need. I will be waiting by the car," he said, gesturing at the limousine behind him. Sara looked at him skeptically. With a smile and a nod of his head, the gentleman stepped back and headed toward the limousine. Closing the door, Sara blew out a big breath. As she headed toward her bedroom to get a bag, she thought, 'Yeah. Definitely going to keep the gun nearby.'

Five minutes later Sara Sidle stepped onto the sidewalk and headed toward the limousine. Holding the door open for her, the chauffeur said, "My name is Fred, Miss Sidle. If you need anything just press the intercom button. Enjoy the ride." Sara gave him a tight smile and slipped inside the car. She settled into the leather seat and took in her surroundings. There was a seat directly behind the driver's partition, facing her, and there was another seat perpendicular to that one, running along the driver's side of the limousine. On the passenger side wall was a small console, which she guessed probably held a mini-fridge and a TV. On top of the console was a single red rose and a card. Scooting forward, she picked the card up. She opened it and a smile played on her lips as she read the cryptic message.

_Dearest Sara,_

_Today you will find the answers to your questions._

_You will learn who I am and why I am doing this._

_But first, I would like you to relax and feel what it is like to be treated like royalty, for that is what you are._

_One last thing. I know you may be feeling a little apprehensive._

_After all, you have no idea what you are getting in to._

_Should you find yourself having doubts, call Catherine._

_All my love._

Sara let the card fall to her lap, flabbergasted. Catherine? Catherine was in on this? All right, that was just too much. She pulled her phone off of her belt and pressed speed dial 3.

"Willows."

"Catherine? What the hell? I'm sitting here in a limous--" Catherine cut her off with a laugh.

"Hey, Sara! You having fun?"

"Catherine! No, I'm actually wondering what the hell is going on!" she practically shouted. Catherine's voice became quiet as she answered.

"Everything's kosher, Sara. It's not some crazy nutcase. Trust me."

"Catherine, who is it? Who's doing all this?"

Catherine snorted in reply and dropped her voice about an octave as she said, "Are you high, Sidle? I'm not telling you that. You'll find out soon enough. Bye!" she chirped before hanging up, leaving a stunned Sara Sidle on the other end.

----------

As she closed her phone, Catherine turned to Grissom and worriedly said, "Do you think I was evasive enough? You don't think she suspects, do you? Oh, God, did I screw it up?" She wrung her hands. Grissom laughed.

"Catherine, I think you're more nervous than I am." He paused and said quietly, "Although I am getting pretty nervous."

Catherine looked at him sympathetically before grabbing his hand to pull him off of his couch. "Come on, we've got to head over to the Venetian."

----------

Sara was in a daze as she flipped her phone closed. Ok, so Catherine had been totally weird, but what else did she expect? This whole _thing _had been weird, so why should it stop now? Well, at least she knew she was safe, and not delivering herself into the hands of some psycho-cannibal-Anthony-Hopkins-wannabe. She relaxed a little bit and began to observe her surroundings as they slid by. They were on the strip, not that that meant much. Everything in Vegas was on the strip, so it seemed. As they approached the Venetian, the limousine began to slow. The partition between her and the driver slid down and Fred said, "Miss Sidle, this is our stop. You'll need to go ahead and gather your things, please." Sara raised her eyebrows as she obediently wrapped her hands around her overnight bag. She unzipped it a bit and tucked her newest card, along with the rose, next to the bottle of Dom Perignon. As the limousine slid to a stop, she toyed with the strap. She was really getting antsy. Fred came around to open her door. Sliding out, she stood up and looked around. She'd been to the Venetian before, of course, but only to process crime scenes. Closing the door behind her, Fred said, "Please follow me, Miss Sidle."

Fred led her to an elevator, which they then took to the fourth floor. Sara silently pursed her lips and raised her eyebrows in surprise as she realized where they were going. Wow.

She tried but failed to suppress a small grin as they stepped through the doors of the Canyon Ranch SpaClub—the finest in Las Vegas. Fred spoke to a woman at the reception desk, introducing her as Miss Sara Sidle. He then tipped his hat to her and left. Sara turned to the woman, who smiled warmly. "Good morning, Miss Sidle. Welcome to the Venetian and Canyon Ranch. My name is Jennifer. If you'll follow me, I'll show you back." Sara gripped her bag tightly as she followed Jennifer through the luxuriously appointed space. She felt like she was moving through a dream. Jennifer escorted her into a small room. Smiling graciously, she waved toward a pedicure chair. "Miss Sidle, if you'll let me take your bag, I'll put it away for safekeeping while you receive your manicure, pedicure, and facial. Your team should be along any moment now. In the meantime, make yourself at home. May I get you something to drink?"

Sara was nearly at a loss for words. "Uhh...a glass of iced tea would be great. Thank you." As Jennifer nodded and stepped away, Sara carefully sat in the pedicure chair, looking around. There was a table with magazines on it ('I bet they don't have the latest issue of _Forensic Science,' _she mused), and in the corner near the ceiling, a large TV loomed. She was starting to relax as Jennifer came back in Sara's iced tea, followed by two women. They introduced themselves as Tiffany and Kate.

"Tiffany is a nail specialist, and Kate will be giving you your spa facial," Jennifer announced. "Enjoy!" she added cheerfully as she closed the door behind her.

Sara smiled at the two women as she sat back and prepared herself to be pampered. Without even realizing it, she had crossed a line in her mind. She knew that she was going to see this thing through to the end, if for no other reason than complete curiosity. And since someone was paying good money (and by the looks of things, _LOTS _of good money) for her to be pampered, well, by God she was going to enjoy it!

----------

Threehours later, Sara had received a one hour pedicure, a 30-minute manicure,a facial, and lunchat the Canyon Ranch Cafe. She felt amazing. She had no idea that letting people make a fuss over her could be so much fun. Kate escorted her back to the front desk and handed her off to Jennifer. Jennifer smiled and said, "I've already sent your bag up to your suite. I believe I am supposed to give you this," handing her a card.

Sara smiled at her, trying to look as if she had a clue what the hell Jennifer was talking about, and turned with a curt "Thank you." She was dying to rip into that card. She had to admit it—whoever was behind this had her hooked.

Opening up the card, a room key fell out. Placing it in her pocket, she eagerly read the text.

_Dearest Sara,_

_I have taken the liberty of reserving you a suite on the 36th floor._

_You will find more details there._

_All my love._

Sara looked up as she felt a tap on her shoulder. Standing just to her left was a bellhop. "Miss Sidle, may I take you to your suite, please?"

She looked at him, unsure whether to be exasperated or frustrated. Shaking her head, she muttered, "Why the hell not?" The bellhop strode purposefully to an elevator with Sara on his heels. The ride to the 36th floor was quiet. Her curiosity was piqued, though. The 36th floor was the top; she was obviously getting a penthouse suite. When they reached Sara's floor, the bellhop led her to her suite. She handed him the key and he opened the door for her and led her inside. He placed the key on a table and turned to her.

"Is there anything else I can get you, Ma'am?"

Sara didn't even hear the question. Her eyes were huge, and her mouth hung limply open.

"Ma'am?"

"Er, what? No, I'm fine, thank you...Thank you," she managed. As the bellhop took his leave, her eyes wandered the room in shock. This was...beyond anything she had imagined. Sure, she had been in penthouse suites on a number of occasions—the rate at which the wealthy managed to get themselves killed was amazing, really—but she suddenly had the absurd realization that it was _completely_ different when it was actually going to be _her _suite. The whole thing was suddenly so much more impressive. She stood there, slowly soaking it all in. She was standing in a foyer, with a small but luxurious half bath to her left. Ahead was a living room, with a sitting area, a dining table, and what looked to be a fully-stocked bar. She noticed the floor-to-ceiling window looking out onto the Strip. Very nice view. She wandered into the living room and through the doorway to the bedroom. In it was a luxuriously-appointed king size bed...which was covered in beautifully gift-wrapped boxes. She walked over and inspected them, noting yet another card atop the highest box. She reached for it, then decided to finish her tour of the suite before diving into the gifts. 'From the look of it, it might take a while to open it all,' she thought wryly. As she turned to her left and started toward the bathroom, she noticed her overnight bag sitting on the floor.

Walking through a doorway, she realized there was a large dressing/makeup area that separated the bedroom from the bathroom. She noted the walk-in closets as she passed into the bathroom. "Whoa," she whispered aloud as she took in the vast space. The centerpiece of the room was a huge jetted tub, but the massive shower was only slightly behind it in opulence. It was an elegant glass enclosure with double-head showers. There were separate his-and-her sinks, and an enclosed water closet to finish out the impressive room. As she turned, something caught her eye. Next to the tub was a large basket filled with bath products. There was a simple card attached, with the single word "Sara" in that flowing calligraphy. She flipped the card over; nothing. Sara was tempted to toss some bubble bath in that gorgeous tub and soak for awhile, but she was even more tempted by whatever was in those boxes on the bed. Her decision made, she walked purposefully back into the bedroom and sat down on the bed to open her gifts.

TBC...

A/N: Sorry it took me so long to update, guys. I've been having a little writer's block. I had hoped to have this new chapter up before the show came on tonight, but then I thought, "What the hell...nobody's going to be on Fanfiction until the show's over, anyway..." So here we are. Hope you enjoyed!


	11. Getting ready

Sara sat Indian-style on the huge king-sized bed and reached for the card atop the pile of gifts. Opening it up carefully, she read the fine script.

_Dearest Sara,_

_You should find everything you need for our evening tonight within these boxes._

_I hope you enjoy opening these gifts. Please be ready at 7 pm._

_Someone will come for you._

_In the meantime, try to get some rest._

_All my love._

Sara felt a sense of relief wash over her as she finished reading the card. For better or worse, this would all be over tonight. Certainly, she had enjoyed the attention that had been lavished on her, but she was ready to find out who was behind this. '_Please be Grissom, please be Grissom,'_ she thought to herself before she could slap the thought away. She knew it wasn't him. Try as she might, however, she couldn't make herself stop hoping. "Stop it, Sara!" she hissed aloud. "You'll only be heartbroken if you get your hopes up." She rolled her eyes at herself. Nice. Now she had taken to talking to herself. Classic.

She set the card aside and reached for the first gift. She resisted the urge to shake the box like a kid at Christmas. She looked admiringly at the gift wrap. She was dying to rip into it, but it seemed a shame to ruin the wrapping. It was beautifully done. The box was wrapped in a shiny, deep blue paper and tied with a wide silver ribbon. Finally, her inner child won out, and she slipped the ribbon off the box. Sliding her fingers under the paper, she freed the box from its constraints. Looking at the box in her hands, she breathed in sharply. The elegant box said "Prada" in sophisticated type. With trembling fingers, she lifted the lid off and peeled back the tissue paper inside. She stared down uncomprehendingly at the exquisite piece of clothing before her. After a moment, she lifted the dress out of its box. Sitting up on her knees, she let the dress fall to its full length as she admired it. It was an elegant affair, long and black. The off-the-shoulder, halter-esque bodice was not terribly revealing, but would accent her curves nicely. There was a very faint striping pattern within the material that was visible only from close range. The pattern was basic black-on-black, and therefore very subtle. Sara thought it was the most beautiful dress she had ever seen. She laid it lovingly on the bed and put the Prada box aside. Reaching for the next gift, she surmised that it was most likely shoes. Peeling the gift wrap away, she let out a low whistle as she observed the Jimmy Choo logo on the gift box. She looked on the side at the style name. "Brenda," it read. Gingerly lifting the lid off of the shoebox, she discovered an absolutely stunning pair of heels. They were strappy suede sandals. Skinny suede straps criss-crossed over the toes and ran up the ankle. Sara glanced down at her freshly polished candy-apple-red toenails and knew that this pair of Jimmy Choo heels was going to be perfect on her feet. She placed the shoes back in their box and sat the box down on the floor. Suddenly feeling like a spoiled debutante, she reached for yet another box. This one was smaller. Tearing the gift wrap off, she gasped as she saw the name stamped into the elegant leather box. Bvlgari. Sara was not exactly a fashion maven, but she knew a maker of fine jewelry when she saw it. Opening the box, she nearly let out a sob when she saw the exquisite necklace in front of her. She lifted it out of the box with shaking hands. She noticed a certificate of authenticity beneath it and reached for it. Beneath a brief history of Bvlgari she found details on the necklace. It was a pendant in white gold and pavé diamonds. The pendant itself consisted of several diamond "drops" with round spheres of white gold at the end. Sara had no idea why, but she was on the edge of tears. Her emotions were all in a jumble. It was almost all too much. She went through the possibilities in her head. If it _was _Grissom, she was absolutely overwhelmed that he would go to these lengths for her. On the other hand, because of that very evidence, she knew it couldn't be Grissom. But if it was someone else, she was faced with the very real (and unpleasant) task of having to reject his affections. Sara squeezed her eyes shut and rubbed her forehead tiredly in frustration. _'Please let it be Grissom, please let it be Grissom...' _Snapping herself back to reality, she forced the thoughts from her head. Time to finish with the gifts so she could get some sleep. The next two boxes (also leather, with the Bvlgari stamp) proved to contain matching earrings and a bracelet. Raising her eyebrows and shaking her head in disbelief, Sara placed the jewelry to the side. Two boxes left. Choosing the larger of the two, she discovered a sleek black Louis Vuitton evening bag. Very chic. Opening the last box, she found a bottle of Chanel no. 5. She removed the top from the bottle and sniffed at it. Heavenly.

Sara looked around at the mess she had created. There was wrapping paper everywhere. Scooting off of the bed, she began gathering the discarded paper. She placed it in a wastebasket and turned back to the bed to admire her loot. She had definitely made out like a bandit. She began to gather her gifts so she could put them away in the closet. She was just hanging the dress in the closet when she stopped short. Uh-oh. She examined the dress and then pulled the waistband of her jeans slightly away from her body. Hmm. Sleek black dress, white cotton panties? 'Not a great move, Sara,' she thought. Apparently her suitor (_'Please let it be Grissom, please let it be Grissom'_) had not thought of that. Or perhaps he had thought of it and elected to be more discreet than to include underwear in his gifts. Luckily for her the Grand Canal Shoppes were downstairs. There was a Banana Republic there. She grabbed her wallet and headed to the door.

Half an hour later, Sara was back in her suite, small Banana Republic bag in hand. She hadn't been exactly sure what kind of underwear to get. Thongs were just not her style. She usually wore low rise cotton bikini briefs, but that didn't seem quite appropriate for a Prada dress, either. She eventually decided on a pair of black lace-trimmed hipsters. They looked feminine, yet comfortable. Sara knew she needed to get a little sleep before she started getting ready, so she tossed her purchase on the counter in the dressing area and took one last look in the closet before crawling into the bed. She almost moaned as she crawled between the luxurious sheets. 'Damn, these sheets have _got _to be at least 500 thread count,' she thought as she began to get drowsy. As she lay there, she thought about her suitor. _'Please let it be Grissom, please let it be Grissom...'_ No way, she told herself. Grissom wouldn't have had a clue about the clothes and accessories. That kind of thing was morelike Cather—

Sara sat bolt upright in bed, heart pounding. It couldn't be. Could it? Catherine was in on it, that much she knew. Grissom and Catherine were close friends. Grissom had no clue about fashion. Catherine did. It all _fit—_didn't it? Sara was breathing heavily. She suddenly felt lightheaded. _'Oh, god. Please, God, let it be him. Please. I'll never ask for anything again. I love him so much. Please, God, let it be him.'_ Sara squeezed her eyes shut as a single tear rolled down her cheek. "Stop it, Sara!" she yelled into the empty suite. "You _know _it won't be him! He doesn't love you and he never will!" Her mind started turning frantically. Okay, it made sense that it would be him because of Catherine, but it also made sense that if it was someone else, they would enlist the help of one of her co-workers. After all, someone had to gain access to her locker, right? And he would guess that Sara might be uncomfortable with the situation, thereby providing a security blanket in the form of a phone call to Catherine. She admitted it was a smart move. Once she had talked to Catherine, she had totally relaxed about the whole thing. Sure, her curiosity was stronger than ever, but she no longer felt that she was in any sort of potential danger. Sara looked down at her shaking hands and began to take deep breaths. She looked over at the clock, then reached for the phone. After she had arranged her wakeup call, she made a concerted effort to put everything out of her mind so she could sleep. After all, who knew what tonight would bring?

----------

Catherine sat on Grissom's couch with an amused smile as she watched him pace his living room. No doubt about it, if he kept going at this rate, he was going to have to replace his carpet. She decided to start getting him ready a little early. "Gil," she started, causing him to snap his head toward her. "Why don't you go ahead and jump in the shower, ok? Just go in there and get the water really hot and try to relax," she said with the tone of a mother. This time, though, Grissom didn't have a smart comeback. He just nodded and took off down the hallway. Catherine leaned back and blew out a sigh. She had never seen him this nervous. She really hoped he wasn't going to puke on Sara.

----------

Sara took her time in the shower, enjoying the super-huge space and the feel of the double shower heads. She took extra time shaving her legs—after all, they were going to be bare under that dress, and who knew where things were going to lead? She stepped out of the shower, patted herself dry, and selected a bottle of lotion from the basket of bath products. Smoothing it on, she glanced in the mirror. What on earth was she going to do with her hair?

----------

Catherine was glad that Grissom had asked her to help him get ready for his evening with Sara. He was a nervous wreck, and she ended up having to tie his tie. As she put the finishing touches—the cuff links—on him, she stepped back and gave him a once-over. "You look great, Gil," she said. "How do you feel?"

He swallowed hard. "Like I'm about to go out with the woman I've loved for years and don't deserve."

Catherine rolled her eyes. "God, Gil, don't be such a drama queen. I know you're nervous, but the thing is, you DO deserve her. And she deserves you. And you love each other. It's a shame that you've both been too clueless to realize it, but that's what you're trying to change, right?" Seeing his nod, she continued, "And now...you're going to have the night of your dreams with the woman of your dreams. Think positively, ok?"

He nodded and looked at his watch. "The limo should be here anytime."

----------

Sara looked in the mirror, having just finished with her hair and makeup. She had opted to leave her hair fairly simple, in keeping with the simple lines of the dress. She had blown it dry, managing to leave just the tiniest amount of wave in it. It gave the overall impression of having been straightened, but it had a great deal more body than it would have if she had straightened it as she normally did. To balance out her simple hairstyle, though, she had applied just slightly more makeup than she normally would have. Looking at her reflection, she thought her eyes looked rather dramatic. Satisfied, she went to the dressing area. She slipped into her new panties and pulled the dress off of its hanger. Slipping it on, she suddenly worried that it wouldn't fit, but was somehow not surprised when it fit like a glove. Everything else had been too perfect to conceive of the dress not fitting perfectly, as well. She turned sideways and cocked her head to the side as she contemplated what she saw in the mirror. She would have died rather than admit it aloud, but she thought she looked pretty damn good. She added the Jimmy Choos to the equation, and suddenly she looked even better. She sprayed the Chanel no. 5 on her neck and chest, and then looked lovingly at the Bvlgari jewelry. One by one, she put each piece on, then examined the final product in the mirror. She smiled as she wondered what the guys back at the lab would think (_'Please let it be Grissom, please let it be Grissom'_)—they'd never believe that the beauty standing in the Prima suite of the Venetian was their very own CSI Level III Sara Sidle. She grabbed the Louis Vuitton bag and quickly filled it with her lipstick, ID, credit card, cell phone, and some breath mints. Looking at the clock, she walked over to a chair to wait.

----------

Gil Grissom looked at Catherine as the doorbell rang. She stood and walked over to him. "Good luck," she said, giving him a quick peck on the cheek. "You're going to be fine. I promise." Grissom looked at her and gave her a spontaneous hug. Catherine handed him the wrapped box of lingerie. "Here," she said. "Just in case." She winked.

"Thank you, Catherine...For everything." With that, he opened the door and followed Fred to the limousine, leaving Catherine standing in his doorway.

A/N: Thanks for being patient. Tomorrow my husband and I have agreed to work around the house and in the yard all day, so I'll try to get the next chapter up by tomorrow (Saturday) night, but I can't guarantee anything. Just be patient—I promise I won't just abandon the story!


	12. Rendezvous

A/N: Well...I guess you guys can be glad that it's a rainy day in southeast Tennessee...Icky weather means my husband and I can't work in the yard as planned, so maybe I can actually get this posted before tonight! Once again, thanks for all the awesome reviews—they make me feel so warm and fuzzy!

Sara couldn't sit still. It was ten minutes before seven, and her heart was pounding. She walked around her suite, looking for anything to occupy her mind. First she went to the window of the bedroom and took in the breathtaking view of the Strip. Normally she thought of the Strip as the world's tackiest, gaudiest sight, but the lights were somehow lovely when you were standing 36 floors up in a luxurious penthouse suite. _Everything_ seemed lovely when you were standing 36 floors up in a luxurious penthouse suite, come to think of it. Her view of the Strip held her attention for about 30 seconds before she got bored and decided to check out the living area again. She had only passed through it before, not taking the opportunity to explore it. She admired the beautiful mahogany of the fully-stocked bar, and ran her fingers along the fine wood grain of the dining table. Walking back into the foyer, she stopped short as she noticed a small package on the table by the door. That hadn't been there before...had it? It was wrapped in the same dark blue paper with a silver ribbon around it. Tearing the package open, she discovered a hardback copy of a book. _The Devil Wears Prada. _Opening it up, she read the message on the inside cover. Calligraphy, of course.

_Dearest Sara,_

_The Devil may wear Prada, but tonight..._

_An angel wears it._

_All my love._

Sara lifted one corner of her mouth in a small smile as she reveled in the compliment. She took the book back into the bedroom and placed it on the bedside table. She wasn't really into chick lit, but the note on the inside cover was so sweet...she'd have to give this particular book a try. Besides, the recognized the title; it was a _New York Times _bestseller, so it couldn't be all bad, right? Moving into the bathroom, she decided to add some makeup to her bag. She rummaged in her things and emerged with eyeshadow and eyeliner. She placed them in the Louis Vuitton bag with her lipstick. Finally, she looked at her watch. Three minutes till seven.

----------

Grissom fidgeted in the limousine. The ride from his townhouse to the Venetian was not a long one, but it seemed to be taking eons tonight. His mind was at war with itself. It was trying to convince him that this had all been a very bad idea, that Sara was going to reject him, and that he deserved it. It was saying that after all he had put her through, she had every right to grind him to dust under her heel. It told him that his heart would never recover, that he would have been better off to just continue denying his feelings for her. He fought back. No, he loved her, and he was doing the right thing. He had made mistakes in the past, but he was going to do every damn thing he could to set things right. He couldn't live without her any longer.

He breathed a sigh of relief as the limousine pulled off the Strip and into the parking lot of the Venetian. Fred exited the vehicle to get Sara. Finally. One way or another, he would soon know. Grissom was slightly sick to his stomach. Breathing deeply, he closed his eyes and told himself to calm down.

----------

Sara jumped when she heard the knock at the door. She grabbed her Louis Vuitton bag, slipped her room key into it, and drew a deep breath as she headed to the door. Opening it, she was surprised to see Fred again.

"Fred!" she said with a smile.

"Good evening, Miss Sidle. If you'll be so kind as to follow me, I will take you to your suitor."

_'Please let it be Grissom, please let it be Grissom...No! You can't get your hopes up. Oh, shut up, yes, you can. You might as well, because even if you try to prepare yourself for someone else, you'll still be devastated if it's not him...Please let it be Grissom, please let it be Grissom...'_ Sara continued to repeat the words in her head like a mantra as she stepped into the elevator. The ride down seemed to take years to complete. She and Fred stood in a silence that was not altogether uncomfortable. By the time the doors finally opened to release them onto the mezzanine level, her heart was pounding so hard that she was a little light-headed. As they stepped through the revolving door, she saw the limousine just ahead. She tightened her grip on her evening bag and willed her heart to slow down.

----------

Gil Grissom drew in a sharp gasp as he watched Sara emerge from the revolving door. He silently thanked God for the tinted windows of the limousine that would allow him to observe her without notice. Articulate though he was, he couldn't come up with a word to describe the way she looked. Stunning? Beautiful? Exquisite? None seemed vast enough to capture the beauty that Sara radiated. Grissom made a mental note to thank Catherine for being a genius. The dress looked as if it had been made to be worn on Sara Sidle's body. The black material came up over her left shoulder, leaving her right shoulder bare. It was form-fitting through the waist, and then fell loosely to the ground around her feet. With each step she took, a slit on the left side exposed her long, muscular left leg to nearly the top of her thigh. At the end of her legs, on her feet, were a pair of heels whose straps wound up around her ankles, perfectly setting off every delicate curve and bone of her feet and ankles. She was only about 20 feet from the limousine now. Grissom rubbed his hands on his pants, cleared his throat, and prepared for the most important moment of his life to date.

----------

Sara's pulse and breathing quickened as she and Fred approached the limousine. She stepped gingerly off the curb and waited as Fred reached for the door handle. Opening it, he gestured for her to get in. Sara lifted the hem of her dress and looked down as she ducked into the limousine to make sure she didn't catch it on anything. Settling herself onto the leather seat, she realized someone was sitting in front of her and she looked up. As she looked at the man sitting across from her, her hands flew to her mouth and she let out a small involuntary sob. She sat there with her violently shaking hands covering her mouth for what seemed like ages, just...staring at him. Just as she was beginning to wonder if she was stuck in some beautiful, cruel dream, he began to move toward her.

----------

As the limousine door opened, Gil Grissom worried—for just a split second—that he was going to faint. But as he watched her gather the hem of her dress and step delicately inside, oblivious to his presence, he was suddenly overcome with calm. This was so right. He remained still, watching her as she situated herself in her seat, looking down. Suddenly she looked up at him. Her hands covered her mouth as a small sound—was it a sob?—left it. He silently noted that her fingers were trembling. He gazed into her huge dark eyes as they filled with tears. His heart soared as he realized what was happening. She was glad that it was him. Suddenly he had to touch her. He moved forward, inching closer to the love of his life.

----------

Sara watched, dazed, as Gil Grissom _('Thank you, God, thank you, God, thank you, God...')_ inched toward her. Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion. When he was finally directly in front of her, he sat on his knees as he gazed into her eyes. He reached up with his right hand and cupped her left cheek, swiping his thumb across it in a perfect imitation of what she had done so long ago. His eyes grew bright with tears as he whispered, "It's not chalk. I just needed to touch you...to make sure you're real." A single tear finally escaped from Sara's eyes as she leaned into his touch. He wiped it away as she finally found her voice.

"I...I have...so many questions..." she stammered, her voice breaking at the end. Grissom nodded as he brought his forehead to hers.

"I know. We have the entire evening for that. Right now, I need to tell you a few things." Taking a deep breath, he pushed away every instinct he had that made him want to clam up, and prepared to spill his heart. "Sara...I'm not the most eloquent man in the world when it comes to my heart, but I'm going to do the best I can here. I want to explain to you what has been going through my mind all these years." He paused to gather his thoughts. He was unsure of where to start. After a moment, he decided that the best place to start is usually the beginning, and he proceeded. "Sara...when I first met you, you took my breath away. You were so young, vibrant, and brilliant. When we became friends, I knew there was something between us, but I thought of all the possible repercussions of getting involved with a student. Not just professional ones, either. I felt as though you held my heart in the palm of your hands and I was terrified of that. I had never felt that way about anyone else. On top of everything, I couldn't see how you could possibly feel the same way toward me. I mean, here I was, fifteen years older than you, totally antisocial, completely ignorant of social graces, and suddenly this stunning young woman was interested--in me? Come on, get real. So I began to convince myself that it was just some sort of hero worship on your part. You know, the clichéd crush on the teacher. Eventually, I convinced myself to keep you at arm's length. It worked well until you came to work for me. Suddenly I couldn't keep you at arm's length any longer. But I continued with the little game in my head. 'She doesn't love me, she can't love me, I'm not good for her, I would only hurt her...' Of course," Grissom looked down, "I did end up hurting you. But I'll get back to that in a moment. As I realized that this...this _thing _between us wasn't going to go away, I just started to shut myself down around you. You see, Sara, solitude is all I have ever known." Grissom looked into Sara's eyes. They were large and full of tears as she watched him pour out his heart. He continued, "Denying my love for you was a form of self-preservation. It may have hurt like hell to not have you, but it was no different from everything I've known. If I gambled everything on your love and ended up losing..." Grissom's voice dropped to a whisper, "It would have killed me." Sara's chin was trembling, but Grissom couldn't stop now. "So we've been circling each other for years in this crazy, cruel dance. I was convinced I was doing the right thing, not only for myself, but for you, too. I kept telling myself that you deserve better, which you do, but finally Brass made me see reason." Sara's eyes became quizzical at the mention of Brass. Grissom didn't know if the next part would make Sara angry, but this was the time for clearing the air, so everything must come out. Taking a deep breath, he moved to the seat next to Sara and turned toward her as he continued. "A few weeks ago, Brass had to chase down a particularly feisty suspect. Later that day, he came into my office complaining about being old and out of shape. He said he wanted to start working out more regularly, and that he needed a partner. He thought that I seemed rather stressed, and that it might do me some good. Long story short, he convinced me to work out with him three mornings a week after shift, and we both bought memberships to the Fitness Factory." He watched Sara's reaction carefully. At the mention of her gym, she raised her eyebrows and stiffened almost imperceptibly, but she didn't seem angry. Grissom decided to go for it. "Monday morning, Brass was running late, so I started working out by myself. I was taking a break between sets and walking around the weight room when I noticed a window I had never paid any attention to before. It looked out into the dance studio." Sara's head moved in the tiniest of nods. Grissom continued. "God, Sara, you were...you were so perfect," he breathed. "It was like watching an angel..." His eyes became distant as he remembered the moment. Looking back into her moist eyes, he said, "I stood there for I don't know how long when suddenly Jim spoke up from next to me. He was watching me watch you, and he...well, basically he chewed my ass out for letting you get away," Grissom smiled. "He said the whole lab knew I was in love with you—everybody but you, that is. I tried to play the whole thing off, but I couldn't sleep later for thinking of you. Granted, that wasn't all that unusual, but in my mind I kept hearing Jim's voice. I fought with myself, using all the familiar, old arguments about why a relationship with you would be a bad idea, but suddenly something that Jim said just hit home." He paused and looked at the woman in front of him. She was sitting there quietly, still trembling, letting him pour his heart out. Grissom reached across and took Sara's hands, wrapping them tightly in his own. "Sara, he told me that I should let _you _be the judge of what's best for you. All this time, I've been justifying it to myself by saying that it would be best for you if we weren't together, but by doing that, I was in effect saying that you weren't smart enough to know what was best for you. Suddenly, I knew what I had to do. It was like someone had removed a blindfold that I didn't even know I was wearing. That's when I started planning this. Sara, when I fuck something up, I fuck it up royally. And so I thought that it was only right that I put the same kind of energy into setting things right..." His voice trailed off. "Okay, that's all I really wanted to say right now. There's more, but it can wait." He looked at her. She was just staring at him. "Sara? Honey, please say something."

Sara sniffled and looked deep into Grissom's eyes before she spoke. "Remind me to buy Jim some brandy and cigars, ok?" She laughed through her tears at the grin on Grissom's face. Suddenly, she reached forward and slid her arms around his shoulders. Burying her face in his neck (God, he smelled good...), she whimpered, "I can't believe this is happening. I can't believe you would do all this for me. Please tell me you're really here and that you're not going to suddenly freak out and leave." Grissom removed his arms from her slender waist so he could look into her eyes. He gently took her chin between his thumb and forefinger as he spoke.

"Sara, I want you to look me in the eyes and listen to me very carefully as I say this." Satisfied that he had her undivided attention, he continued. "Sara, you are the only woman I have ever loved and I never meant to hurt you. It may have taken me a very, very long time to get my head out of my ass, as Catherine so delicately put it, but rest assured that as long you will have me, I am never going anywhere." He paused and stared at her even harder. He swallowed and got right the point. "Sara...I know I've been an ass. And I still don't know what you see in me. But if you want me, I'm yours.Will you still have me?"

Sara had more or less stopped listening after "you are the only woman I have ever loved." She realized that Grissom had stopped talking and was looking at her. She gazed at him, dumbfounded. "Did you say...that you love me?"

Grissom reached down and took her hands again. She hadn't answered his question, but this was no time to start playing it safe. He buried his gaze in her chocolate eyes and went for broke. "Yes. Sara Sidle, I love you. With everything I have." His voice cracked with emotion as he whispered, "Please tell me I'm not too late." He lifted one of his hands from hers and trailed a finger down the side of her face, down her neck, and across her collarbone to her bare shoulder. She closed her eyes and shivered at his touch. With her eyes still closed, she whispered, "You could never be too late."

Grissom's heart danced. "You mean...you'll forgive me? You still want to be with me?" All the evidence pointed to it, but he still found himself unable to grasp the reality of the situation—Sara still wanted him.

She pulled back from him and looked into his eyes. For the first time that evening, she seemed completely calm. "Gil...all I've ever wanted is to be with you."

TBC....

A/N: Well, the weather cleared up and we ended spending several hours in the yard this afternoon, so I'm really happy to be able to get this posted at a decent time. I hope it lived up to your expectations—but there's plenty more good stuff to come!


	13. Limousine ride

A/N: Whew! I was really nervous after I posted that last chapter. I built it up for so long, I was afraid you guys would totally flame me if it didn't live up to your expectations. The reviews were fantastic. Thanks for making me feel good about it. I'm still having an absolute blast writing it, and I hope you're still having a blast reading it!

Sara watched Gil Grissom carefully as she said those fateful words… "Gil…all I've ever wanted is to be with you." A look that encompassed both total relief and total joy washed over his face. Seeing that, Sara gave the man of her dreams the patented Sara Sidle Smile for the first time that evening.

For Grissom, the words coming out of Sara's mouth were like balm on every old wound he had in his heart. He couldn't stop the tears from welling up in his eyes as she grinned at him. For the first time, he allowed himself to think that maybe, just maybe, everything was going to be okay. His expression sobered as he realized he needed to tell her something. "Sara," he said, eyes serious, "I need you to know something. I told you that denying my love for you was a form of self-preservation. In reality, it was a form of self-destruction, but I was just too blind to understand that. I don't think I truly understood the implications of what I was doing to myself—and much more importantly, to you—until Brass got a hold of me. Sara, I don't think I can ever forgive myself for hurting you like I have. But I need you to know that it was _never_ intentional." There was searing pain in his eyes as he said that last part. "I would die if I thought that you thought otherwise. Please believe me that I never intentionally hurt you. I always thought I was acting in your best interests, misguided though I was. I don't really think I have the words to apologize for what I have done. All I can do is tell you that I am truly, deeply sorry, and humbly ask your forgiveness." He looked searchingly into her eyes as he finished his plea.

Ever so slowly, Sara leaned forward and grazed his cheek with the lightest of kisses, like the brush of a butterfly's wings. It was a bold move on her part, but the pain his impassioned apology had conveyed made her ache inside. She wanted to erase that pain for him. Leaning close to his ear, she whispered to him, very softly. "Griss…if I _ever_ thought, even for a second, that you had intentionally hurt me, we would not be having this conversation. But I know you never meant to hurt me." She leaned closer, her lips touching his earlobe as she spoke. "You see, Gil, believe it or not, I _understand _you. It's one of the reasons I love you—because I _get_ what makes you tick. And I know that this is terrifying for you. I know that this is worlds away from everything you have ever known. And the fact that you have chosen to risk it all in order to be with me…well, ifpossible, it makes me love you even more. Of course I forgive you. The important thing, Gil, is that you are here _now._ You figured it out and you came to me." She dropped her voice so low that he could barely hear her next words. "Nothing else matters now." With one final brush of her lips across his cheek, she pulled back so she could see him.

He looked at her with tears in his eyes. God…this woman. She was incredible. It dawned on him that she really _did _understand him, and that was why she was able to forgive him so easily. He reached up and cradled her face in both of his hands. When he spoke, his voice was taut with emotion. "Thank you, Sara. Thank you for forgiving me." As he looked into her eyes, he suddenly realized what he needed to do. He leaned forward, ever so slowly, drawing out the pleasurable tension of the moment as long as possible. Their eyes remained locked. As he closed the last inch of distance separating their lips, he watched her eyes flutter closed, and allowed his to follow suit. When their lips finally met, the thought that went through his mind was that this was probably the most perfect moment of his life. Deepening the kiss, he dropped his left hand from her face to the side of her neck, caressing it lightly with his fingers. Her quiet moan encouraged him, and he slipped his tongue into her mouth. She leaned into him, eagerly tasting him. She ran her hands under his jacket and around to his back. Before Grissom could think to stop himself, his left hand slid slowly from her neck down to her waist, lightly but purposely brushing her breast on its journey. As he realized that both he and Sara were becoming very aroused by their kiss, he gently broke it off. Tilting her head down to kiss her forehead, he lightly whispered, "I think I better stop before I get too out of control. After all, we still have to go to dinner."

Sara's eyes widened. She had completely forgotten that they were in a limousine on their way to who-knew-where. She smiled and squeezed his hand. "And where are you taking me, Dr. Grissom?" she asked playfully.

He looked at her lovingly as he replied, "Have you ever been to Le Cirque?"

Sara's mouth spread into a grin. "Le Cirque? As in Le Cirque at the Bellagio? As in one of the most luxurious five-star restaurants in Vegas?" Seeing his nod, she continued, "Why, no, Dr. Grissom, I have never been to Le Cirque. You see, I'm an employee of the Las Vegas Crime Lab, and I can't afford to go to places like Le Cirque." She winked at him. He chuckled.

"Well, my dear, you are going to enjoy the cuisine of Le Cirque tonight. And if you're a good girl, I'll take you dancing later," he added, eyes twinkling. At this, Sara gaped. After all he had done over the past few days, she hadn't been shocked that he would take her to a five-star restaurant. But dancing? Surely he was joking.

"You're kidding…right?" she said dubiously. Grissom tucked a stray strand of brown hair behind her ear.

"No, as a matter of fact, I'm not." Smiling, he added, "I'll explain after dinner." She looked at him, raised an eyebrow, and sat back, deciding to trust him on this one. Suddenly she sat straight up.

"Shit!" Sara hissed.

"What is it?" Grissom asked, alarmed.

"My makeup," she sheepishly replied. "Sorry—didn't mean to scare you. I just realized that it's probably all messed up from crying. Here," she said, grabbing her evening bag. Pulling out the compact that contained her eyeshadow, she surveyed the damage. "Not too bad. I think I can fix it." She licked her finger and cleaned up one or two small streaks. Then she deftly reapplied the shadow as Grissom watched, fascinated. Reaching back into her bag, she emerged with eyeliner and quickly touched it up, as well. Finally, she pulled out her lipstick and reapplied it. As she placed it back in her bag, a thought occurred to her. She leaned forward and inspected Grissom's mouth. Ever so gently, she rubbed a bit of lipstick from his lower lip. She smiled shyly and said, "I didn't think you'd want to walk into Le Cirque with lipstick all over your face."

He looked at her gently and said, "As long as it's your lipstick, I don't care who sees it or where I am."

Looking out, he realized that they were in the parking lot of the Bellagio. He had no idea how long they had been there; it was less than a mile from the Venetian to the Bellagio, but traffic could be a bitch. They could have just gotten there, or they could have been there for ten minutes already. He made a mental note to thank Fred for his obvious discretion. He had pulled into the parking lot to let Grissom and Sara finish their conversation before dinner. Grissom glanced at Sara. "Are you ready?" She grinned and nodded. Grissom pressed the intercom button. "Fred, we're ready any time. Thank you for being patient with us." The limousine began moving again, to the area where he would let Grissom and Sara out for dinner. When the car came to a stop, Fred exited the vehicle and opened the door to release Sara and Grissom into the sweet evening air. Grissom emerged first, and held out a hand to help Sara out. Taking in her exquisite form once again, he said, "I think I was too blown away to say this earlier, but I want you to know that you look absolutely…stunning. Catherine certainly outdid herself this time."

Sara smiled as he confirmed her suspicions about Catherine. "I knew something was up when I got the card this morning. I did call her to make sure I wasn't being stalked by some psycho. Then when I got to the suite and discovered these amazing clothes…" her voice trailed off. She stopped in her tracks and turned to him. "I was lying in bed trying to figure everything out, and suddenly I put it together. I knew Catherine was involved because of the card, and I kept hoping against hope that you were behind it all. Then when I saw the clothes, I knew you couldn't have picked them out alone. The only thing that made sense was that you would employ the help of a trusted friend with amazing style. When that dawned on me, Griss, I…I was so happy I didn't know what to do. Still, though, I tried to convince myself that it couldn't be you, that you would never go to these lengths for me." She looked down at their entwined hands and looked back up at him, face shining with happiness. "You see, Grissom, you're not the only one with instincts for self-preservation. As much as my gut told me it was you, I never allowed myself to truly believe it until I saw you. And now here we are." She smiled again. Stepping back, she looked him up and down as if seeing him for the first time. "Wow, Griss," she whispered. "You weren't the only one caught up in the moment. You look…incredibly handsome. Oh, my God, is that Armani?" she said with a squeak.

Grissom pulled the left lapel of his jacket back, flashing the Armani label at her. "Indeed it is," he said with a smile. "I gave Catherine my credit card and told her to go nuts."

"Damn, Grissom," Sara said in a low voice. She suddenly realized they were just standing on the sidewalk outside the Bellagio. She slipped her hand back into his and they began walking slowly. "What time are our reservations?" she asked.

Grissom glanced at his watch. "We've got fifteen minutes. It'll give us time to talk some more," he said.

Sara looked down at her clothing, then over to Grissom. She thought over all that he had done in the last few days and had to ask a question. "Umm, Griss? Please don't think I'm incredibly tacky for asking this, but how can you afford all this?" When he laughed, she gave him a puzzled look.

"I'm sorry," he said sincerely. "I wasn't laughing at you. It's just that Catherine asked me the same thing. I'll tell you what I told her. I'm 48 years old and I've never been married. You've seen my townhouse—it's functional, but nothing luxurious. It is, however, completely paid for. Basically, Sara, I've worked my entire adult life. I'm a loner, I keep to myself, and my only hobby is…work. For twenty-five years now, I've socked away nearly everything I've made--I mean, it's not like I had anything better to do with it. So for all these years, I've just had this steadily growing nest egg, with no one to spend it on." His voice grew quiet. "There have been many times, usually in my darkest moments, when I've asked myself what the point was in all this. No one to share my life with, nothing to do with all this money--only my work to keep me company. In those moments, I always thought of you. I would dream of holding you beside me as you slept, of lavishing you with all the things you deserve. I never let myself believe that those dreams could be a reality, though. Until now. And as I said, when I fuck something up, I fuck it up royally. But when I decide to _do_ something, I go all out. And so this is my way of showing you how serious I am about us. I do _not_," he said vehemently, "want you to think I am trying to buy your love. I would never insult you in such a way. I just want you to know that I'm going to do every damn thing I can to make up for all the years I've wasted."

They had stopped walking again. Sara gripped his hand tightly as she said, "You don't owe me anything, Griss. But I want you to know that what you have done for me in the past few days…well, I'm just overwhelmed," she finished simply.

Grissom leaned in and kissed her lightly on the lips. "It's no more than you deserve," he said. "Come on," he said, glancing down at his watch. "Let's go eat."

TBC…


	14. Dinner at Le Cirque

Grissom led Sara through the entryway of Le Cirque and to the podium where the maitre d' was standing. He held her hand as he spoke to the gentleman. "Good evening. We have a reservation for 7:45. Grissom, party of 2."

"Ahh, yes. Right this way, sir."

As the maitre d' led them to their table, Sara couldn't help but feel that the entire situation was surreal. She had just stood in the lobby of an elegant restaurant, holding the hand of the inimitable Gil Grissom, while he proclaimed that they were "Grissom, party of 2." They had kissed in a limousine, and he had told her he loved her. He was going to take her dancing later. She was wearing a Prada dress, and she was _still holding Gil Grissom's hand as he led her to their table._ God, it was official. She had died and gone to Heaven. She looked up at the silk flowing down from the ceiling, creating a circus "tent" that helped add to Le Cirque's elegantly whimsical atmosphere. Not how she pictured Heaven, but she'd take it. As they reached their table, she looked down once more at their hands. The sight of her small, delicate hand carefully ensconced in his large, masculine one made her feel light-headed. '_Whoa, get a hold of yourself, Sidle. Passing out in the middle of Le Cirque would _not _be an amazing way to start your first date with Gil Grissom…oh, shit! I'm on a date with Gil Grissom! Dammit, Sara, get it together! Okay, breathe…in…out…okay, good.'_ Sara managed a very calm and gracious smile as Grissom pulled out her seat for her. She slipped gracefully into the chair, despite the fact that her heart was going a mile a minute at the thought that _she was on a date with Gil Grissom!_ Swallowing hard, she berated herself for acting like a seventh grader. Drawing a few deep breaths, she calmed herself considerably. As she settled into her chair, the maitre d' listed the specials of the evening, as well as the House wines. Sara nodded appreciatively, even though she didn't hear a word he said. She was glad when Grissom requested a bottle of burgundy. Good—a little alcohol would help calm her nerves.

Sara was surprised at how smoothly the dinner went. When their waiter came to take their orders, Grissom deferred to Sara's vegetarian tastes by echoing Sara's order of risotto. She raised her eyebrows and told him he was more than welcome to order meat. He winked and said, "I'd like to continue kissing you later, Miss Sidle, and I doubt you'd enjoy it very much if I had meat-breath, hmm…?" She couldn't help but grin at that.

For the rest of the meal, they kept the conversation light, but not forced. They discussed their colleagues, their taste in music and movies, their favorite books, and some recent humorous incidents at the lab. It was as if there was an unspoken rule to keep the dinner conversation unemotional—there would be plenty of time for that later.

When they had finished their risotto—which was delicious—and were waiting on dessert, Grissom reached across the table and took her left hand in his right. He swept his thumb over the back of her hand, causing a pleasant tingle to travel through her body. She locked her eyes with his. In a low voice, full of emotion, she said, "If I haven't already said it, thank you…for everything."

He cocked his head to the side—just a little—and said, "If I haven't already said it, you're worth it." He watched with satisfaction as a slow grin spread across her face and she looked down at their hands. Her face pinked slightly as his words. He suddenly couldn't stop himself. He had to tell her again. "Sara, I love you." Her head jerked up. She still wasn't used to hearing those words from his mouth.

Her face grew serious as she replied, "And I you. You have truly made me the happiest woman in the world tonight, Gil. I know that may sound incredibly clichéd, but it's true. After all these years…I, I can't explain, it just makes it that much sweeter." She paused, concern creeping into her face. "Am I making any sense?"

He smiled at her. "Perfect sense." He released her hand and leaned back in his chair, studying her. Dear God in Heaven, he was sitting across the table from the most beautiful creature he had ever seen. She was absolutely exquisite. Her face was beautiful, of course, but there was something more. She just radiated perfection, it seemed. The gentle curve of her neck, the smooth slope of her one bare shoulder, her long graceful arms, and those hands…those long delicate fingers. He still had no clue what this enchanting woman saw in him, but if she loved him, by God, he wasn't going to question it.

As Grissom gently let go of her hand and sat back, Sara looked at the man before her. He was leaning back in his chair with a studious look on his face. He had his index and middle fingers on the side of his face, with his ring finger and little finger curled under his bottom lip, just watching her. He was breathtakingly handsome. She imagined that it would be tough for _anyone_ to look bad in Armani, but he just…wow. The suit was cut to perfection on him, and she briefly wondered how Catherine had managed to do it. The tie made his eyes even bluer, if possible, and the entire ensemble just made him look incredibly distinguished. Sara knew that he had always been concerned about their difference in age, and she smiled inwardly as she wondered what he would think if he knew that his age was one of the things that she found the _sexiest_ about him. God, he was amazing. She sighed contentedly.

Grissom was startled out of his ruminations by a sigh from Sara. "You okay?" he queried with concern. She gave him a small smile.

"I'm perfect. I was just sitting here contemplating how incredibly good you look this evening," she said.

"Hmm. Great minds think alike, then, because I myself was just admiring your beauty. Really, Sara, that dress looks like it was designed with the goal of being worn on your amazing body." Grissom's face reddened slightly at that last bit. Perhaps he was being too forward. His fears, however, were assuaged by the Sara Sidle Grin.

The dessert arrived and was eaten slowly, every bite savored. When they finished, Grissom looked at his watch. "It's 9:45," he said. "We have 45 minutes to kill."

Sara gave him an inquisitive look. "What happens in 45 minutes?"

"We go dancing. I told you I'd take you dancing if you were good."

At this, Sara raised one perfectly sculpted eyebrow. "I thought you were joking."

"I would never joke about dancing. What—you think I can't dance? Hell, Babe, I wouldn't have pegged you for a ballerina before Monday, but obviously I was wrong, huh?"

Sara gave a hearty laugh. Shaking her head, she said, "I still can't believe you spied on me while I was dancing! What if I'd fallen on my ass, Griss?"

"Ah, but you didn't." Lowering his voice again, he said, "Sara, I meant it. You looked like an angel. How long have you been dancing?"

As Sara started to answer, their waiter came with the bill. Grissom handed over his credit card and the waiter left again. Grissom looked at Sara expectantly. "Well," she began. "I started dancing when I was nine. It was my mom's idea. She had been a dancer, and I was really awkward as a child. She thought it would be a good idea to help me learn some coordination. And as luck would have it, I turned out to be quite good." Sara smiled at Grissom's enraptured look. He was obviously enjoying hearing about Sara as a child. She continued, "You would probably be surprised to know that dancing is what ignited my passion for physics. I figured out pretty quickly that a solid understanding of basic physics would help me be a better dancer, and of course, once I discovered physics, I fell I love with it." Sara looked up shyly at Grissom and said in a quiet voice, "When I was seventeen I played the lead in _Swan Lake._ I was so proud," she said, blushing a bit.

Grissom watched her as she spoke. He imagined that a seventeen year-old Sara Sidle as the lead in _Swan Lake_ was probably a sight to behold. He whispered, "I bet you were beautiful."

"It was the first time in my life I really felt beautiful," she admitted. She took a breath before continuing. "You've made me feel beautiful tonight, Griss," she said, eyes cast down.

"Sara, I had nothing to do with it. If you haven't noticed, I can't keep my eyes off of you, and neither can anyone else," he said, waving his hands around. "Every single day when I see you at work, I marvel at your beauty—even after you've worked five doubles in a row and you're dead on your feet, you still look amazing to me. But tonight…" his voice trailed off as he searched for words. "Tonight, Sara, you just look incredible. For the first time in my life, I can't find the words to describe something."

The waiter approached the table with the credit card slip for Grissom to sign. He mentally calculated the gratuity and added it to the total. When he glanced up, Sara was staring at him with glistening eyes. He looked at her, relieved when she finally cracked a small smile and joked, "Dammit, Griss, you better stop saying stuff like that or I'm going to have to keep re-applying my makeup!"

Grissom laughed as he stood from his chair and helped Sara to her feet.

----------

When they were outside of the restaurant, Sara turned to Grissom and brushed her lips across his cheek. "Thank you for a wonderful dinner," she said. He turned to her and smiled mischievously.

"Hmm, for dinner at a five-star restaurant, I better get more than a peck on the cheek."

As Sara moved to land a playful punch on his arm, he grabbed her arms and pulled her in close. Her heart pounded as she looked into those magnificent blue eyes. He dropped his left hand to her waist and he placed his other hand on her face and neck, pulling her face to his. He gently pressed his mouth to hers, taking the time to process all the information assaulting his senses. Her smell, her taste, the feel of her mouth and tongue, the small sounds she made with her mouth as they kissed… He slowly pulled out of the kiss, leaving them both a little dazed. With his hand still cradling her face and neck, he whispered, "Thank you for allowing me to take you to dinner. It was wonderful."

She looked at him with hazy eyes. When she found her voice, she said, "Gil Grissom, I'm going to faint in your arms if you keep doing that."

"I could handle that," he said with a chuckle. He looked at his watch again. "Curve opens in less than a half hour. Do you feel like walking?" he asked, looking down at the heels she was wearing.

"Curve? At the Aladdin?"

"One and the same."

Sara raised both eyebrows. "Griss, you never fail to shock the living hell out of me. Come on, let's go," she said.


	15. Dancing

As they started off toward the Aladdin, Grissom looked down at Sara's heels once more and asked, "You sure you feel like walking?"

"Griss, it's less than half a mile. I'll live."

Grissom slipped his hand back into hers and wove their fingers together. He loved the way it felt to hold Sara Sidle's hand. She glanced over at him and smiled. From the corner of his eye, he watched as she opened her mouth to say something and then closed it again, thinking better of it. He prodded her. "What? What is it?"

She gave him a sheepish grin and tripped a little over the words. "Uhh, well, Griss…it's just that…" She stopped and took a deep breath and blurted it out. "Can you even dance?"

At this, he gave a hearty laugh, then recovered and attempted to look hurt. "Why, Miss Sidle, why on Earth would you question my dancing ability?"

She smiled and shook her head. "Well… I've imagined us doing a lot of things, but dancing was never one of them." She blushed. "Umm, sorry. I hope that wasn't too much information," she muttered.

Grissom gave her a sly smile. "I'd love to hear more about some of these things you've imagined us doing," he began. Before he could continue teasing her, she wrinkled her eyebrows together and posed a sudden question.

"Why Curve?"

"What?" Grissom asked, confused.

"Why Curve? I mean, there are literally hundreds of nightclubs in Vegas. Why did you choose Curve? You must have had a reason. I'm just curious as to what it was."

"Well…" Grissom began slowly. "There are actually several reasons. First of all, it's a classy establishment that caters to a slightly more mature crowd. We probably won't be surrounded by drunk college kids, which is a good thing. I mean, let's face it, Sara. _You'd_ fit in anywhere, but I think I might look a little bit out of place in some of these nightspots. I'd probably look like a chaperone at a high school dance." He wrinkled his nose at the thought, which Sara found impossibly adorable. He continued. "Second of all, Thursday is locals' night at Curve, so we probably won't have to deal with a bunch of crazy tourists. And the last reason is…" Grissom cleared his throat. He was a little embarrassed, for some reason. "Umm, in addition to the House music, Curve plays a lot of Latin music, which is…basically the only thing I know how to dance to."

Sara raised her eyebrows to their highest point as her lips parted slightly in surprise. Grissom glanced over and saw just the faintest hint of the gap between her two front teeth. Finally, she spoke. "Uhh, ok, you care to explain that last statement? You mean you know how to dance to Latin music, which most people find to be totally intimidating, but you can't dance to anything else?" The look she was giving him was one of complete skepticism.

Grissom sighed as he contemplated the bittersweet memories he was about to share. He looked up at the sky as he began to speak. "My mother is an artist, which I think you already knew." She nodded. "Well, as an artist, she's so full of passion, and Latin music is by nature passionate. She's always loved it. When I was very young, she and my father used to go salsa dancing all the time. Then," Grissom's voice became quiet, "he left and she had no one to dance with. She was a very strong woman and didn't complain, but sometimes I would catch her in the kitchen with the radio on, dancing by herself, a sad look in her eyes. So when I was fourteen, I started saving my money, and I secretly enrolled in dance lessons so I could learn the steps. Once I became proficient, I took her dancing. She had so much fun that it became a weekly tradition for us…" Grissom's voice trailed off as he glanced over at Sara and shrugged his shoulders, embarrassed. He was surprised to see tears in Sara's eyes.

"Griss," she whispered. "That's one of the sweetest things I've ever heard." She squeezed his hand. "Your mother is a very lucky woman to have such a thoughtful son." Grissom shrugged again. "I just wanted to make her happy."

---------

Sara was pleasantly surprised as they entered the nightclub. Grissom had been right about it being a classy place. There were eight different rooms, encompassing everything from high-energy dance floors to quieter, more intimate lounge areas. There were private booths where couples could sit and observe the crowd, along with balconies overlooking the Strip. Sara was not surprised when Grissom led her to a reserved booth in the VIP seating area. After all he had done, it was getting pretty hard to surprise her, she thought wryly. Sara slid into the booth and tingled with happiness when Grissom slid in next to her, instead of sitting across the table. An attendant came to the table, and Grissom requested bottle service. He deferred to Sara when the attendant inquired as to what they would like. Sara tilted her head, studying Grissom, before making up her mind. She pursed her lips and said, "Bourbon, top shelf." One corner of Grissom's mouth turned up at her words. Sara grinned and leaned in close to his ear. "I know that's what you like, and to be honest, I don't care what I'm drinking as long as I'm drinking it with you." As she finished, she flicked her tongue against his earlobe seductively. She gave a self-satisfied smile as she heard him suck in his breath.

He turned to her. "Well, before you get me all hot and bothered here, do you want to have a look around? Or have you been here before?"

She shook her head. "No, I've only heard about it. I'd love to look around."

Grissom wiggled out of his coat and left it lying on the seat as they got up. First, they went out on one of the balconies to sample the view of the Strip. Ceramic heaters chased away the cool, dry desert air. Sara leaned against the railing and thought she would die when Grissom fell in behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist. The front of his body was pressed snug to her back, and the heat that they were creating was…distracting, to say the least. He lifted his right hand to brush her hair back off her shoulder, granting him access to her neck. He leaned his lips down and caressed her neck with them, his beard irritating her skin in a way that she found completely intoxicating. As she let her mind wander into dangerous—and erotic—territory, a panic-inducing thought occurred to her. What exactly would happen when their date was over? _'Oh, shit. Oh, shit. What am I supposed to do? He got me that suite. Am I supposed to ask him up? Is he expecting that? Or will he think I'm being a slut? Is he ready to move that fast? Am _I _ready to move that fast?'_ Without realizing it, Sara had stiffened significantly. The change in her body language was not lost on Grissom. With his lips still roaming her neck, he whispered, "What? What is it? Did I do something?"

Sara shook her head quickly. "No, you didn't do anything. It's…nothing," she finished quickly.

Grissom moved to her side, turning her body toward him so he could see her face. "I don't believe you, Sara. Honey, tell me," he said plaintively.

Sara looked into his eyes, studying them. She finally decided that perhaps honesty was the best course of action. "Umm, promise you won't think I'm strange?" she asked with a small smile.

Grissom mirrored her smile. "Of course I won't think you're strange."

"Well…you were kissing my neck and I just started wondering…uh, exactly where things were going to go tonight. I mean, physically, I guess." She looked down at his feet. "I just don't know exactly what your expectations are. You got me that beautiful suite, so I thought you might expect to, ah…" Her voice trailed off. "On the other hand, I don't want you to think that I'm, um…promiscuous." She was really getting flustered. She had to shut up before she totally made an idiot of herself. "I guess I was just wondering what you are expecting of me."

Grissom reached down and pulled her chin up. She was shocked to see that he looked a little hurt. He held her gently as he said, "God, Sara, no. I don't _expect _anything of you. Oh, my God, I'm so sorry if I've given you that impression—"

"No, no, you didn't, I just didn't want—"

"God, Sara, Baby, I would _die _before I would put you in a position that made you uncomfortable…"

_'Baby. He called me Baby…'_

He continued, "…and I never meant to make you think that I expected anything from you." The anguish was evident in his eyes. He continued. "Sara, what I expect from you," he paused, "is for you to be totally, one hundred percent comfortable with anything and everything that happens between us—physically and emotionally. You call the shots, Honey."

Sara's heart melted. She felt her tensions fall away. She looked at him lovingly. "May I be very honest with you for a moment?" she asked.

"Of course," he replied softly.

She took a breath. "What I want…" she stopped and redirected her thoughts. She looked up at him and said softly, "Gil, I can't think of a more perfect way to end this perfect evening than to have you come up to my suite and make love to me. My only concern was what level of intimacy _you _would be comfortable with. I didn't know if that would be moving too fast for you. And on top of that..." She looked down again. "I didn't want you to think that I'm the type of girl who just routinely hops in bed with people on the first date." Turning her face back up toward his, she felt her eyes burning with unshed tears as she said, "It's just that I've waited so long for this to happen with you. It just feels right. But if you're not ready, we can wait."

Grissom looked down at her, a tiny smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Sara… I am completely ready for a physical relationship with you. For years, I've been in love with you, yet too scared to act on it. I'm through with that kind of attitude. So yes, I'm ready and I agree—it feels right. But I want you to be absolutely sure."  
Sara couldn't help the huge, stupid smile spreading across her face. _'Oh, my God!'_ she squealed inwardly. _'Gil Grissom wants to sleep with me!'_ Looking at him, she said, "Well, now that we've cleared the air on _that _subject, I'm tempted to drag you back to the Venetian right now. However," she paused, a smile twinkling in her eyes, "I think I can wait. After all, you've told me you can dance, and this I've got to see."

Grissom chuckled lightly as he leaned down and kissed her on the tip of her perfect nose. Taking her hand, he said, "Well, then, let's go find a dance floor. Wait, first let's swing back by our table and see if that bottle of bourbon has made it yet. I think I might feel a little looser on the dance floor with a bit of sauce in my veins," he said with a wry smile.

---------_-_

Five minutes later, Grissom had downed two shots of bourbon, to Sara's delight (Grissom doing shots was something she had never expected to see, but thoroughly enjoyed), and was pulling her out onto the dance floor. He had removed his cuff links, rolled up his sleeves, and loosened his tie, making him look so sexy that Sara wondered how they were ever going to make it back to the Venetian without her tearing his clothes off. The DJ had just started a fast-paced salsa number. Sara was busily fretting that she was going to embarrass herself when suddenly Grissom whipped her into his arms. He gripped her right hand in his left, and placed his right hand firmly in the small of her back. As they began to move, Sara silently thanked God that she had had a kick-ass roommate her freshman year at Harvard. Her very outgoing roomie had insisted on dragging Sara and some other friends to a trendy Boston salsa club one night a week—to relieve stress, she said. And when she found out that Sara was a ballet dancer, she absolutely would not take no for an answer. Sara had always had fun, and had learned quite a few good steps, but she had never been more thankful for that experience than she was right now. Because, damn it all, Grissom was _good._ He was leading her around the dance floor with grace and precision. The skill with which he was guiding her with his strong hand in the small of her back was nothing short of…amazing. She didn't realize how shocked she must have looked until Grissom looked down at her with an amused smile and said, "Close your mouth, Sara." She obediently did as she was told. He continued, "I take it you are pleasantly surprised?" Still beyond words, she nodded. Pulling her even closer, he murmured, "Good." Leading her to the edge of the floor, where it was less crowded, he said, "Ok, we're done with the warm-up. Now that I know how well you can dance, let's try something a little harder, shall we?" Sara looked up at the smirk on his face. Hot damn. This man was unbelievable. She began to wonder if she really knew him at all. The song came to a close, and a club mix of Ricky Martin's _Livin' La Vida Loca _began to blare. Grissom raised an eyebrow and said, "Well…I'm a little embarrassed to admit it, but I kind of like this song. At any rate, it makes good dancing music, so let's go!" Before Sara could say a word, Grissom had whisked her back into action. Sara began to relax as Grissom led her. He was an excellent dance partner, and her memory of salsa steps was not quite as rusty as she had feared. Slowly, her confidence climbed, and she began to enjoy herself. Grissom eased her into some more complex steps, and as the song progressed, he winked at her before moving her into a turn. Having successfully completed it, they both grinned, and he surprised her by uttering, "Cross over break with a spot turn…ready?" She grinned slyly and nodded. The moved their leading legs inside, then shifted their weight back onto them, pivoted into a turn, and came back together.

"Smooth, Griss," Sara whispered.

"Let's try something else. Around the world to an outside spin," he spoke mischievously. Sara raised an eyebrow defiantly.

"Okay," she whispered. He moved her into a turn, and as she completed it, he made a rotation himself. As he completed his turn, she crossed his body as they stepped sideways, and she performed an outside spin, coming to rest back in his arms again without missing a step. She could tell he was impressed.

"My God, Sara, is there anything you can't do?" She laughed and told him about her college roommate.

"Trust me, Griss, if it hadn't been for Ashley, I would probably be too intimidated by your dancing prowess to even be out here with you."

He laughed. "Well, I'm glad Ashley dragged you out dancing, then, because I am certainly enjoying this."

"So am I. You are an amazing dancer, Grissom. I can't believe I never knew this about you!"

"Hey, I never knew you were a ballerina, so let's just call it even, ok?"

----------

Sara and Grissom danced for several more songs before Sara declared she needed to sit down before her feet started to bleed. Grissom led her back to their table, where they indulged in a bit more bourbon. Sara raised her eyebrows and said, "You don't mind that I'm drinking?"

Grissom put his glass down, took her hand, and said, "Sara, you told me that you didn't have a drinking problem--that being pulled over was a one-time mistake. If you say you don't have a drinking problem, I believe you, Honey. You seem so young to me because of our age difference, but I do realize that you are a grown woman, Sara. I trust your judgment completely."

Sara squeezed his hand. "Thank you, Griss. I don't think you know how much it means to me to hear you say that." Grissom smiled. Sara continued. "Speaking of the age difference, may I ask you a question?" Grissom winced, not knowing where she was going with this, and then nodded. Sara leaned her head to the side and asked, "Why does it bother you so much? I mean, it obviously doesn't matter to me."

Grissom blew out a large breath and leaned back. Looking at his hands, he said, "There are several reasons, really. First of all, people will talk, Sara. I mean, look at us. You are an absolutely beautiful young woman, vibrant and full of life. Half the men in the lab would kill for the opportunity to date you. Then there's me. I'm fifteen years your senior—an antisocial, graying old scientist. People will wonder what the hell you are doing with me. I just never wanted anyone to say you were trying to sleep your way to the top." Sara gave a sad smile as she realized the emotional turmoil he must have gone through while struggling with his feelings for her. He continued, "Second of all, I've always been afraid you'd wake up one day and wonder, 'What the hell am I doing here?' It's as if I know I'm not good enough for you, but you haven't figured it out yet, and I'm just waiting for the other shoe to drop. You seem to be doing your best to obliterate that line of reasoning, though." He smiled. "Then there aretwo final reasons, which are, uh, a little strange to discuss. My age…it would have a major effect on two things—one in the short term, and one in the long term." His face was reddening at the forwardness of the conversation, and Sara squeezed his hand again in encouragement. He swallowed hard and continued. "Umm, I definitely don't have the, ah, stamina…uh, sexually…that a man closer to your own age would have. Then, and this is the long-term implication, and I'm not trying to get too far ahead here, but it's just something that has occurred to me. Um, Sara, is it your desire to be a mother?" Sara looked at him, shocked.

"Well…" Sara searched for the right words. "Yeah, I've always wanted to have children, Griss…it's just that I had kind of given up by this point. I mean, I'm 33 years old, I'm not married, and up until tonight," she grinned, "I didn't have any prospects on the horizon. You can't exactly think about having kids when you don't even have a boyfriend. So, I'd sort of given up on the idea, but yes, I would like to be a mother at some point."

Grissom looked at her sadly. "But Sara, if you stay with me, would you really want your children to be fathered by a man who will more than likely be in his early 50s by the time they are born?" He absolutely could not believe he had just said that. There was no possible way he was sitting with Sara Sidle, having a conversation about their possible future children. He was waiting for her to suddenly scoff at the idea that she would be sticking around long enough for children to be a possibility. He dared to glance over at her. She was looking at him with tears in her eyes. _'Oh, God,' _he thought. _'Here it comes. God, I knew it was too good to be true. She's going to break my heart right here and now.'_

Sara spoke, her voice strained from the tears that were fighting to break free. "Grissom…" she whispered, bringing his hand up to her mouth. She delicately covered it in small kisses as she squeezed her eyes shut against the tears. Grissom thought his heart might explode from the pain. Sara continued. "Oh, God, Grissom…you just don't understand, do you?" He gave her a puzzled look. She said, "If I just lay myself bare here for a moment, will that freak you out?" He gave her a wary look, then slowly shook his head. Sara took a deep breath. "Gil… I have dreamed so many times of the future we might have together. And those dreams have always, always, _always _included children." Her voice and eyes became dreamy as she relived her fantasies to him. "I've dreamed of small children with deep blue eyes and thick curls." She brought a hand up to his head and threaded her fingers through his salt-and-pepper curls. She twirled a curl around her middle finger as she spoke. "I've wondered whose nose they would get, whose chin. Would they inherit the little gap between my teeth? If we had a son, would he be passionate about insects? If we had a daughter, would she be the apple of your eye? Would you hold me close and lovingly caress my belly as I carried your child?" She snapped back to reality and looked into his dark blue eyes. "Grissom, I know you would be a fantastic father. I've seen you with Lindsey—she absolutely adores you. Children's minds are like little sponges, and you love that about them. Gil," she finished, "you would be an amazing father, and the only effect your age would have is that you will likely be a much more mature and patient parent." As she finished, her face burned with the realization of all that she had just poured out to him. The reddening of her features was not lost on him, and he reached to caress her face.

"Sara," he whispered. "God, Sara, I had no idea you felt that way. Don't you dare feel embarrassed for what you just said. The fact that you have dreamt of having my children is…" He searched for the right words. "It's just astonishing," he finished simply.

"So I didn't freak you out, then?"

He smiled. "No, Honey, you didn't freak me out. But what about…" He blushed. "What about my other concern…the stamina issue?"

Sara grinned mischievously. "Grissom, I swear…you only see half of the equation, you nut! _Think _about it, Gil. Okay, so a younger guy can have at it, and then be ready to go again in about two minutes. BUT…what does an older man have that a younger man doesn't? Come on, Gil…" she prodded at his confused look. "Gil! An older man can…uh…_last _longer." She blushed a little but, then looked back up at him. A slow smile was spreading across his handsome face.

"Ah," he said quietly. He raised an eyebrow and cocked his head to the side. "You may have a very good point there, Miss Sidle. I hadn't thought of that." He relaxed when he saw Sara's grin. "Hmm," he continued. "I think I'll have a bit more bourbon and then drag you back out on the dance floor, if your feet are feeling up to it."

She nodded. "Definitely. I want to see some more of Gil Grissom's dance moves."

Swallowing back another shot of the good stuff, he stood up and held his hand out to Sara. Pulling her to her feet, he asked, "Have I told you that you look absolutely stunning tonight, Sara?"

She gave him a megawatt Sara Sidle Smile. "Well, yes, but I'll be more than happy to listen if you want to say it again."

"You look absolutely stunning tonight, Sara." He leaned in to brush his lips across hers before leading her back out to the dance floor.

Grissom and Sara danced for awhile longer, then decided to call it a night when Sara finally admitted that her feet were killing her. As Grissom led her off the dance floor for the second time, he leaned in for a hug. "Thank you for this evening, Sara," he whispered into her hair.

She leaned up and whispered into his ear, "The evening's not over yet, Gil."

He sucked in a breath at the sultry quality of her voice. God, he couldn't wait to get back to the Venetian. "Fred should be waiting in the parking lot for us. I'll give him a call and let him know we're ready." As Grissom pulled out his phone, Sara walked back over to their booth and gathered up his jacket. She strode back toward him just as he was snapping the phone shut. "He'll be at the door as soon as he can navigate the traffic."

Grissom put his hand on Sara's back as he guided her outside to wait for Fred. When she began shivering in the cool desert air, he slipped his jacket over her shoulders. She looked at him gratefully and whispered once again, "Thanks, Grissom…for everything."

He smiled down at her. Then, "I just want you to know that if you're at all unsure about…anything…you can tell me and I'll understand. No pressure, Sara," he said seriously.

She caressed his hand gently. "Gil, I'm ready. I promise." As she stood there holding his hand, she realized they were both trembling with anticipation.

----------

The limo ride back to the Venetian was relatively quick, considering that traffic on the Strip can be a nightmare. When the limousine pulled up to the curb of the Venetian, Grissom leaned over to the cabinet containing the mini-fridge and TV and opened a compartment. Reaching in, he pulled out another gift-wrapped package. Sara raised a quizzical eyebrow. "What is that?" she asked.

Grissom surveyed her. Raising an eyebrow of his own in response, he replied, "I don't know…exactly."

"What?" Sara was really confused. "How can you not know what it is?"

"I'll explain when we get upstairs."

Fred chose that moment to open the door of the limousine. Grissom stepped out, package in hand, and reached a hand down for Sara to take. As she emerged, she gave the package another questioning glance and shrugged. She trusted him. Besides, she had more important fish to fry right now. Within moments, she was going to be in a penthouse suite at the Venetian with Gil Grissom.

A/N: OK, people, I've had these last couple of chapters written for a while now, but Fanfiction is having some kind of issues and is basically a "read-only" site right now. At any rate, please don't think I'm not updating.

I hope everybody had a good Turkey Day. Good God, I ate my weight in turkey and essentially slipped into an L-Tryptophan-induced coma. Ugh. I never want to eat again. So then I watched CSI last night, and may I just say, WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?! I may kill myself if the producers don't fix this! Seriously, this had better just be some kind of stupid-ass sweeps stunt. I do not like this Sofia character. Ugh. Then I dragged my ass out of bed at 5:30 this morning to go shopping. Will someone just shoot me? Please? Ok, I did snag some serious bargains, though, so life isn't all bad, right? ;)


	16. The, uh, climax, Ahem

**A/N: Sorry it took so long. I found this chapter incredibly hard to write. I had no desire for it to turn into total smut, for one big reason. Although the characters here are (unfortunately) not real, the actors who portray them are. And even though we're talking about Grissom and Sara, it's really William Petersen and Jorja Fox's bodies that we're dealing with. Personally, if I was an actor and I saw this kind of stuff written about me, I'd probably be completely embarrassed. So even though I am aware that they will NEVER see this, I tried to handle it somewhat delicately out of respect. I upped the rating anyway, though, because regardless of how delicately I worded it, a sex scene is…a sex scene.**

As soon as the elevator doors closed behind them, Grissom attacked Sara with a vengeance. They had managed to snag an empty elevator, and Grissom was intent on taking full advantage of the situation. They were kissing passionately, hands roaming everywhere, when they simultaneously realized that the elevator wasn't moving.

"Key card," Sara mumbled breathlessly against Grissom's lips. Of course. The top three floors required key card access for the elevator. Without removing her lips from Grissom's, Sara fumbled in her purse for the card. Finding it, she pressed it into Grissom's hand. Grissom attempted to slide the card into the slot by the button bearing the number "36" without taking his lips—or eyes—off of Sara.

Finally, frustrated, he whispered, "Dammit," and disentangled himself long enough to slide the card in and out quickly. On command, the elevator began moving. With a devilish grin, Gil Grissom resumed his explorations of Sara's body. He buried his face in her neck, kissing and smelling every exposed inch of skin. His hands moved all over her body, first pressing against her breasts, then moving down to her hips and back to her ass. He pressed his hips against hers, letting her feel how aroused he was. She moaned in his mouth. While _his _hands were exploring her entire body in a mad rush, she couldn't seem to remove _hers _from his hair. She loved twirling her fingers through his curls. His hair was amazingly soft.

As the elevator reached the 36th floor and the doors opened, Grissom broke away from Sara, leaned down to pick up the gift-wrapped mystery package and led Sara out into the hallway, walking backward. When he reached the door to the suite, he slipped the key card in, opened the door, and did something Sara would have never expected. He tossed the box inside, then reached down and swept Sara off her feet, carrying her into the foyer. She squealed and giggled in delight. As the door closed behind them, Grissom gently put her down and approached her longingly. He pressed her back to the door, once again kissing her with the passion of a man who has waited far too long for the love of his life. As their fervent explorations reached a crescendo, Grissom suddenly pulled back, out of breath. Sara looked at him, confused.

He spoke. "I want to do this right." He reached down and picked up the box. "I told you I'd explain this when we got up here. Umm… This was, uh, Catherine's idea. All I know is that it's lingerie—but I haven't seen it, so I don't know what it looks like. If you want, you can wear it, but, um, if you're not comfortable with the idea…" His voice trailed off as he wondered if he was being way too presumptuous.

To his surprise, Sara smiled. "That was really nice of her. I'll definitely go have a look at it. You'll still be here when I get back, right?" She raised an eyebrow, teasing him.

"You're kidding, right? If you're going to come out in lingerie, I'm going to be here."

She walked toward the bedroom. "You wait in the bedroom and I'll go in the bathroom to change, ok?"

Once inside the bathroom, Sara slipped the ribbon off of the box and tore the paper off. She discovered a pink and white striped Victoria's Secret box. Slipping the lid off, she discovered a handwritten note sitting atop the tissue paper.

_Dear Sara,_

_If you're reading this, then the evening must be going QUITE well! I hope you're not angry with me for doing this. I don't want you to think that I just automatically assumed that you would end up in bed together, but you two have waited so long for this, I thought it was a definite possibility! Therefore, I wanted you to be appropriately outfitted. I went to Victoria's Secret and picked a little something up for you. I figured there was no point in maxing Grissom's card out on some outrageously expensive piece of lingerie that's going to stay on your body for approximately five seconds until Grissom rips it off of you and leaves it in a crumpled heap on the floor. At any rate, I hope you like this, and I hope he does, too. I tried to choose something tasteful AND sexy—I want you to be comfortable. And Sara, just so you know, I'm unbelievably happy for you guys, and I hope tonight is wonderful for you._

_Love,_

_Catherine_

Sara had to fight to keep tears from welling up in her eyes. She and Catherine had not gotten off to the best of starts, but over time, they had developed a very comfortable friendship. Sara had never appreciated it as much as she did right now.

Taking a deep breath, she pulled back the tissue paper. Underneath lay a beautiful satin chemise with a pair of matching bikini panties and a coordinating satin robe. Holding the chemise up, she examined it. Low cut with spaghetti straps, very short, and plain, but classy. Catherine had chosen a deep maroon color that would complement Sara's skin perfectly. Sara was thrilled with Catherine's selection. This was something that she would feel totally comfortable in, and she was pretty sure that Grissom would like it, too.

Sara slipped out of her Prada dress and hung it up in the closet. She removed her shoes and panties, and then proceeded to slip into the panties and chemise that Catherine had chosen. She looked in the mirror, evaluating her appearance. She was happy with what she saw. The chemise was extremely flattering on her. Her neck looked long and graceful, and the short cut of the chemise set her legs off to perfection. She took a deep breath, wrapped the robe around her, cinching the sash loosely around her waist, and stepped out of the bathroom. Grissom was standing by the window, his back to her, taking in the view of the Strip. She noticed his jacket, flung over a chair. Taking him in for a moment, unobserved, Sara was struck again by how handsome he was. She loved those amazing curls—_'God, his hair was so soft in my fingers…' --_and his broad shoulders were incredibly enticing under the crisp white dress shirt. His strong hands were shoved into his pockets, giving him an amazing casual look that made Sara burn with lust. Damn it all, she wanted him—_now. _

Softly, she spoke. "Hey."

Grissom turned to her. For a moment, he didn't speak. His eyes locked with hers, then broke away to wander up and down her body a few times. _'My God…She is beautiful. She's never been more perfect than in this moment. Thank you, Catherine.'_ Suddenly, Grissom remembered to breathe, and as he sucked in a deep breath, Sara leaned her head to the side a little bit.

Clearing her throat, she finally whispered, "Are you just going to stand there and gape, or are you going to come find out what's under this robe?"

Grissom gave her the faintest of grins as he gingerly stepped toward her, his eyes never leaving hers. As he closed the last foot or so of distance between them, he reached up and took her face in his hands. He whispered to her, "God, Sara…You look stunning," as he pressed his lips to hers. Her arms encircled his neck as he deepened the kiss. Grissom dropped his hands from her face and slid them down to her waist. As he found the sash that held the robe closed, he pulled back from the kiss. In a low voice, he said, "I want to do this right…take it slow. I want this to be…perfect," he breathed. Sara nodded slowly.

Grissom pulled at the sash, untying the loose knot. The robe fell open, revealing the perfectly matching maroon chemise beneath. Grissom's breath caught in his throat as he took in the sight of a lingerie-clad Sara Sidle before him. He reached up and gently pushed the robe off of her shoulders and down her arms, leaving it in a small heap on the floor. He stepped back for a moment, drinking in the sight of her, trying to commit this moment to memory. Sara broke his reverie when she reached up and grasped his necktie. "I think you're a little overdressed for the occasion, Griss," she whispered lustily. She yanked at the already-loosened tie until it slipped from its knot. She tossed it haphazardly on the chair where his jacket lay. Turning back to him, she grabbed at his shirttails until his shirt was fully untucked. Grissom stilled her movements by pressing a gentle finger to her lips.

"Slowly, remember?" he chided. Before she could respond, he swept her up in his arms again and placed her on the bed. When he scooped her up, he realized that he had his hands on her smooth, bare thighs, and he briefly wondered how he was ever going to hold it together. _'God, why did I say we were going to take it slowly?' _he wondered to himself. His hands brushed against the fabric of her panties as he removed his arms from beneath her and it was all he could do not to just attack her.

He slowly climbed atop the bed with her, straddling her playfully. Sara reached up and grasped his face in her hands, pulling him down toward her. As she kissed him, she moved her hands to the buttons on his shirt, slowly—torturously—undoing them one…by…one. When she was done, he sat up, pulling the shirt off and tossing it over his shoulder to the floor.

"Now, then, we're making progress," Sara said with a mischievous smirk. "But you're still overdressed. Out of the t-shirt. Now!" she commanded. Grissom complied, feeling only a little self-conscious as he pulled the white t-shirt over his head, tossing it aside.

As Grissom pulled his t-shirt off, Sara looked up at him in awe. How many times had she lain in bed, wondering what his bare chest looked like? And here she was—staring up at the love of her life, seeing him bare-chested for the first time. She reached up and slowly caressed his skin. He closed his eyes in pleasure as Sara's perfect hands ran across his chest. Sara was surprised to see that his chest was smooth. For some reason, she had expected it to be hairy. She reveled in the feel of his smooth muscles under her hands. Sliding her hands to his sides, holding his ribcage firmly, she pulled him toward her. He abandoned the straddling position and laid himself on her fully. He pressed his hands against her breasts, feeling them through the chemise. He wanted to rip the fabric off of her body, but he knew that if he prolonged his torture, it would be more pleasurable for them both in the end.

With a sudden move, Sara pushed up and rolled him over; she was now straddling him. She reached down, slowly, smoothly, and pulled at his belt. She unbuckled it and slid it from his pants. Tossing it over her shoulder, she then moved to the button on the offending piece of clothing. Looking him straight in the eye with as much lust as a woman ever looked at a man, she unbuttoned his pants and slowly unzipped them. She watched, satisfied, as Grissom's eyes rolled back in his head. She was definitely having the kind of effect she had hoped for. She tugged at his pants and he lifted his hips obligingly. She slid them down his legs, revealing a pair of navy blue cotton boxers. Tossing them aside, she pulled off his socks for good measure.

"There," she purred. "I think you're getting closer to being properly dressed for the occasion, don't you think?"

"Mmm," he replied. Looking her up and down, he said, "However, _you _seem to be a little overdressed now…" He sat up on the bed. They were now both in a sitting position, legs facingopposite directions. Reaching to kiss her, he moved closer. He unexpectedly rose up on his knees, breaking the kiss. He looked down at her adoringly. Reaching down, he ran his hands down the sides of the smooth satin. When he reached the bottom, he gripped the hem in his hands and looked into her eyes, silently giving her permission to stop him if she wasn't comfortable. Seeing nothing but desire reflected in her brown eyes, he slowly pulled the chemise up over her head, first revealing dainty panties, then her smooth, taut stomach, and finally her breasts. He was breathless with desire as he tossed the lingerie on the floor, true to Catherine's prophecy. He gently reached out to her. Taking her in his arms, he laid her back on the pillows so he could admire her almost bare body.

Sara, for her part, was absolutely shocked at how comfortable she was. As much as she knew she loved Grissom, she still expected to feel the requisite self-consciousness that usually presented itself when naked before a new lover for the first time. But as she lay there, letting his eyes wash over her, she felt nothing of the sort. Perhaps her out-of-control hormones were obscuring the embarrassment, but Sara felt that it was more likely that the entire situation was just meant to be.

Bringing herself back to the present, she breathed out and allowed her eyes to flutter closed as Grissom brought himself back down on top of her. As his hands came into contact with her bare breasts for the first time she thought that this might be the most excruciatingly pleasurable torture she had ever endured. When his mouth replaced his hands, she knew she had assessed the situation appropriately. This was…nothing short of torture. She impatiently bucked her hips against him, reminding him that they were both still semi-clothed. She reached down and assaulted his boxers, pulling them down his legs.

He laughed against her breasts—a sensation like nothing she had ever experienced. "Impatient, are we?" he teased.

"Grissom," Sara growled. "I can't decide if you're trying to pleasure me or punish me!" She unexpectedly changed her tone from frustrated to pleading. "Please, Griss… Please."

Grissom's mouth fell open against his will. Holy shit. Was Sara Sidle begging him? Was Sara Sidle _begging _him? _Him?_ Dear God in Heaven. He looked into her eyes, and there he saw her desire, her neediness, her desperation. She had waited so long for this moment—she needed him desperately.

Obliging her, she shoved his boxers the rest of the way down his legs and kicked them off. He was still more or less on top of her, leaning on his hands, but his position afforded Sara an ever-so-brief glimpse at his anatomy before he leaned back down to kiss her belly. As his mouth workedits way south, Sara moaned in equal parts pleasure and frustration. When he reached the top of her panties, he glanced up at her for reassurance before sliding his fingers under the satin. He slowly tugged at the one remaining piece of clothing separating them. Sara lifted her hips ever so slightly, allowing him to slip the panties down her legs. His hands caressed her perfectly smooth legs as he pulled her underwear off and dropped it carelessly on the bed. He took in her naked body with reverence as he reached for her hands. Pulling her up, they both sat up on their knees. He drew her to him and swept his arms around her. Gripping her small waist firmly, he pressed their bare chests together and buried his face in her hair.

"I just wanted to feel you in my arms, as close as possible, for a moment," he whispered adoringly. "You are so beautiful."

He heard the tears in her voice as she said, "Is this really happening?"

A whisper. "Yes." It was said so quietly Sara wasn't sure she had heard him correctly. She pulled back to see tears in his eyes. "I'm so sorry," he choked out. "I'm so sorry I waited."

Sara pressed a single finger to his lips and pulled him down on top of her. Her mouth hungrily searched his out, and she spread her legs slightly beneath him. He reached down, feeling her out with his fingers. Sara gasped at his touch. He could not believe how very obviously aroused she was. Just as he was about to pleasure her with his fingers, she broke their kiss. He looked down into her eyes, seeing that raw desperation for the second time. She begged him again, "Please Griss…Please. I need this."

Removing his hand, he pressed down onto her again. He paused for the slightest of moments, and then slowly entered her, his eyes never leaving hers. He began to move within her, unhurried, wanting everything about their first lovemaking experience to be nothing short of perfection. Despite Sara's earlier comments about "mature" men lasting longer, he knew that his immense physical desire for her would make the task difficult. As he felt himself approach climax, he ceased his movements. Sara searched his eyes, alarmed.

"What? What is it? Why did you stop?"

"I don't get mine until you get yours. I was close, so I needed to stop. Sorry." He hoped she didn't misinterpret his terseness as rudeness. In reality, he was just concentrating very hard on taking his libido down a notch or two.

Sara smiled up at him. "I see. It's not a problem. I was afraid you weren't enjoying yourself."

Grissom responded to that absurdity with a raised eyebrow and a look of "Are-you-kidding-me?" Letting out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, he began to move inside her again. He suddenly felt the need to kiss her, and he bent and took her lips between his own. As their tongues met, their lovemaking became more urgent, and their breath began to get ragged. Grissom felt fairly certain that Sara was close, and he wanted to watch her. He pulled up out of the kiss and stared into her eyes as she thrust against him.

"More," she whispered. "More…" He responded to her pleas.

_'God, she better come soon or I'm going to have to stop again…Hang on, Grissom. Be a man!'_

He watched in awe as Sara suddenly gasped and arched up against him. Their eyes never broke contact as she writhed beneath him. He had wondered—and fantasized—so many times about what she would sound like during orgasm. He had never expected her to be a screamer—it just didn't seem like her style. And true to form, she wasn't. His sheer amazement at her quiet demeanor helped him stave off his own climax for a few more seconds. During that time, he took in every sensation and stored it to memory—the look of pure ecstasy and adoration in her eyes as they locked with his, the quiet sound of her gasps, the feel of her hands on his back, pulling him closer, and the intense sensations she created when her muscles clenched around him. That final sensation drove him over the edge, and he added his own gasps to the sounds filling the room. Still keeping his eyes locked on hers, they came together, grabbing each other for dear life.

When they were both sated, Grissom collapsed onto Sara, pulling her close to him. He felt that even though he had just been inside her, he couldn't possibly get close enough to her in this moment. He rolled to his side, holding her tightly in his arms. Kissing her forehead, he whispered, "I love you." In response, she gave a small sob. Grissom jerked back, terrified of what he had done to make her cry.

Sara recognized his alarm and reached out to reassure him. "No," she whispered. "They're happy tears. And extreme stress-relief tears," she added with a tiny laugh and a sniffle.

He laughed quietly and leaned back into her, relieved. "Shh…" he comforted her. He stroked her hair and rocked her as she cried herself out.

"Griss?" she said finally.

"Yes, Baby?"

"I love you, too."

**A/N: Oh, yeah, Baby! But don't go away—there's more to come! Yup, that's right, I'm Griss and Sara crazy, and one little hookup isn't going to satisfy me! I've taken them so far OOC it's not even funny, so it won't hurt to take it a little farther! Stay tuned!**


	17. The morning after

**A/N: Just so you know, you crazy kids are still blowing me away with your reviews. And never have I appreciated it as much as with that last chapter. I just had the most unbelievably hard time writing it. Seeing the positive reviews pour in was such an encouragement, and I just thank you from the bottom of my little mitral valve-prolapsing heart.**

**Also, I hope no one is getting bored with this, because this thing is a SAGA. What I mean is, I hate it when they just hook up and the story ends there. So this thing is going to take them waaaay farther than the initial hookup. I won't tell you how far, because that would sort of ruin it, but I'm just giving you a heads up that this isn't the end.**

Sara felt the familiar sensations of wakefulness tugging at the edges of the sleep that enveloped her. She was warm, and safe, and for once she wasn't waking up from some horrible nightmare—she was waking up from a night of fitful slumber. She relished the feeling of Grissom's heat next to her body for a moment before she lazily dragged her eyes open. She was greeted by the sight of clear blue eyes. Grissom was lying on his side, head resting on its pillow, just staring at her. A tiny smile played around his mouth as he murmured, "Good morning, Sara Sidle." He paused for a moment. "I had to say your name, just to make sure it was real—that I am actually waking up next to Sara Sidle."

Sara reached out a hand and caressed his face. "If this isn't real, then I don't ever want to wake up again…" Grissom smiled at her before she continued, "How long have you been lying there watching me sleep?"

"Mmm…maybe half an hour?"

"Sounds kinda boring."

"Anything but." He swept his thumb across her cheekbone. "I've never seen you at a moment when you weren't beautiful, but watching you sleep…" he breathed. "You were just radiant—so peaceful and content. I could have stayed like that for hours, studying every tiny feature of your face, memorizing every curve of your body, watching your chest rise and fall in perfect peaceful rhythm…" His voice trailed off. He suddenly leaned over and kissed her squarely on the tip of her nose. "I have an idea," he said with a wink. "There's a whole basket of bath treats in the bathroom. Would you like take that big tub for a test drive?"

Sara's eyes gleamed as she sat up. "You don't have to ask me twice," she giggled as she swung her legs out of bed. As she stood up, Grissom got his first look at the love of his life in the morning light as the sunlight streamed through the window and silhouetted her naked body. She laughed at the sight of him, propped up with one elbow on the pillow, his handsome face looking fiendishly lecherous as he devoured her with his eyes.

Sara's heart was light as she bounced around to his side of the bed, grabbing his arm and pulling him up. "Get up, you dirty old man! I'm not taking the tub for a test drive without you!"

----------

Ten minutes later, their teeth brushed to ward off morning breath, Sara and Grissom settled into the huge tub. He had gone into the living room and produced an overnight bag from out of nowhere. In response to Sara's raised eyebrow, he said, "Catherine dropped it off last night while we were eating."

When Sara was brushing her teeth, Grissom turned on the hot water faucet in the tub and asked Sara how she liked her water. "Just south of peeling-my-skin-off-hot," she replied. Grissom gave her a broad grin. This was a match made in Heaven.

As they slid into the hot water, which had been generously supplemented with raspberry-scented bubble bath, they smiled at each other. She stuck her legs out in front of her and placed them atop Grissom's legs. As she leaned back and let the bubbles envelop her, Grissom took her left foot in his right hand and began massaging it gently.

Sara moaned with pleasure. "Oh, God, Griss…After dancing in those heels all night last night, you have no idea how good that feels…"

"Anything for you, Sweetheart," he said tenderly.

Sara began to think that she could get used to this.

When he moved to her right foot, bringing it up out of the water to kiss her big toe before massaging it, she sighed and said, "I wish we didn't have to go back to work tonight…"

Grissom stopped what he was doing. "Um…" He had no idea how to say what he was about to say, but she had just given him the perfect opening that he'd been waiting for.

"What, Griss?"

He reached forward and took her hands in his. He was terrified of her reaction, but he knew if he kept beating around the bush, it would freak her out. Taking a deep breath, he said, "We've covered a lot of ground since last night, Honey. For the first time, we've been totally honest with each other about our feelings, and it's been so…liberating…for me, especially. So…I have another surprise for you, but before I tell you, I want you to give me your word that you will decline if you are not completely comfortable with the idea. Ok?"

Sara nodded silently, her curiosity nearly eating her alive. He certainly seemed antsy about this particular "surprise."

"The surprise is that we don't have to go back to work tonight."

Sara looked at him blankly. "We don't," she said flatly, making it a statement rather than a question.

"Well, it's up to you. In my bag are two plane tickets. Those tickets will put us on a plane at McCarran at 2:05 this afternoon. That plane will take us to Atlanta, where we will have a brief layover before boarding another plane bound for Fort Walton Beach, Florida. From there we will pick up a rental car and drive half an hour to a lovely little resort town called Destin, where an old friend of mine has a beach house that he has ever-so-generously agreed to loan us for as long as we please." He watched her carefully as he finished, gauging her reaction. She was blinking at him, seemingly uncomprehending, but her face was the picture of composure. Finally, he couldn't take it any longer. "Sara? Honey? Please say something. Look, if you're not comfortable with the idea, it's fine. I took out travel insurance just in case, so if you don't want to go, I'm only out 75 bucks—big deal." His brain finally kicked in and clamped his mouth shut. He was "over-talking," as Sara called it. He employed every ounce of self-discipline in his body as he ordered himself to shut up and sit quietly until Sara had an answer for him.

She opened her mouth slowly. "Yes," she whispered. "That sounds absolutely wonderful. I can't believe you did that." She seemed dazed.

A huge smile spread across Grissom's face. "You're absolutely sure you're at ease with the idea?"

"Grissom, I'm sitting naked with you in a huge bubble-filled bathtub in a penthouse suite at the Venetian. Yeah, I'm okay with it," she said wryly.

Good. She had recovered from her shock. She was giving him the Sara Sidle Smile. Prompted by both the Smile and her answer to his proposition, he lunged at her, splashing water everywhere. She shrieked and giggled as he clamped his mouth down on top of hers. Settling his body atop hers, he snaked his arms around her waist.

When he had momentarily sated himself with her kisses, he pulled back to look at her. She cocked her head to the side and prepared to ask hima question. Now that she had gotten over the shock of realizing that she was going on a vacation with Gil Grissom, her mind was back in logic-mode. "Hey, Griss?"

"Hm?"

"What will we tell everyone at work?"

"Catherine will be saving the day again," he replied. Responding to her inquisitive look, she continued, "Well, first of all, I don't want to have to hide 'us' from the team. The only person I'm worried about is Ecklie. God knows he'll take this and use it against you and me both in every way he can. But you don't mind the team knowing, do you?"

"Of course not. It wouldn't seem right for them _not_ to know, actually. They're like family to me," she said quietly, looking down.

"Good. Catherine's expecting a phone call from me later this morning, letting her know one way or the other if the trip is going to happen. When she gets to work tonight, she gets the pleasure of breaking the news to the team and settling the long-running bets they've had going about us," he said wryly, with a half-smile and a slight eye roll. "Once Warrick hands over all his money to Nick and Greg stops crying over losing you, Catherine will inform them of the need for complete discretion because of Ecklie. The cover story will be that you have a nasty case of the flu, and that I had to fly to California because my mother is having emergency surgery. Catherine will handle Ecklie, and the team will bring someone up from day shift to help cover the workload."

Sara pondered this. After a moment, her face broke into a wide grin. "I wish I could be there to see their faces when Catherine tells them we finally did it. Poor Greg. He's going to be so heartbroken," she mused.

Grissom chuckled at this.

They sat in the water, sharing a comfortable, contented silence, until their hands and feet became pruny. Sara reluctantly stood up to exit the tub, and she began to brush the bubbles off her body. Grissom frowned as his gaze suddenly fell on a large scar he had not noticed before. The long, ugly white line curved across Sara's left hip.

"Sara!" he gasped, trailing a wrinkled finger over the length of the scar. "What the hell happened?"

He watched in fear as her face clouded for a moment at his question. She tensed visibly, and for a moment he was afraid that she was going to clam up and push him away. He was relieved beyond words when her face softened. Quietly, she said, "I'm not ready yet. I will be, don't worry. I just need some time before I can share that with you." Her eyes pleaded with him to please understand, to please give her the time and space she needed. Grissom nodded his understanding. He would drop the subject and not bring it up again until she was ready.

Sara reached down to the hand that was still gracing her hip and squeezed it in silent appreciation. She knew she loved him for a reason. He was so intensely private himself that she knew he would understand her request for more time and space.

"Hmm," she said. "I'm still covered in bubbles." With an evil gleam to her eye, she continued, "Seems a shame to just let that huge, luxurious shower just sit there, unused…" She didn't have to finish her thought, as Grissom was already racing for the shower.

----------

Grissom and Sara shared a long, hot, soapy—and very erotic—shower. Sara was pretty sure that was the first time she'd ever been on her knees in the shower, and she had quite enjoyed the experience. Grissom, for his part, had _definitely _enjoyed it. The sight of her below him, eyes closed, hot water spraying her face, was enough to turn him on—add to that what Sara was doing with her mouth, and he was in almost unbearable ecstasy.

As she stood to her feet, Grissom leaned back against the marbled tiles, eyes closed. A second later, he opened them again, shooting her a small, contented smile. "Mmm," he said. "Can't tell you how many times I've fantasized about _that _particular scenario…"

Sara's eyes twinkled as she stood under the hot spray. "Really, Dr. Grissom? Do tell."

He raised a lone eyebrow at her as he poured some shower gel in his palm and proceeded to rub her down. "A gentleman never tells."

----------

An hour later, Grissom and Sara had packed up their things and were ready to check out of the Venetian. Sara glanced around the suite one last time, a wistful look in her eyes. "I hate to leave this place," she admitted. "It was wonderful. Thank you," she said simply.

"As always, my dear, you are more than welcome. It was indeed wonderful," he sighed.

With that, they exited the suite and headed for the elevator. Along the way, they discussed the next few hours.

"Ok, it's ten a.m.," Grissom said, consulting his watch. "We've got four hours till our flight takes off. We'll go to your place first and you can pack some things, then we'll swing by my place and I'll do the same, then I'll have Catherine pick us up there and drop us off at the airport so we don't have to pay for long-term," he said. Sara just shook her head and grinned at him. Gil Grissom, ever organized and efficient.

They reached the lobby and Grissom settled their bill. Sara raised her eyebrows as the clerk rattled off the total, but Grissom never batted an eyelash as he signed the credit card slip. Turning to her, he held out an elbow and said, "Ready, m'lady?" Sara giggled at his mock-chivalry and took his elbow daintily.

"Why, yes, m'lord."

As Grissom stepped out into the sunshine and hailed them a cab, Sara thought that her heart had never been so light and full of joy before. She couldn't seem to stop grinning, and this did not escape Grissom's notice. He glanced her way and tried to mask his own grin as he murmured, "Happy, Miss Sidle?"

"Very," she replied.

They snuggled in the cab on the way to her apartment like a couple of newlyweds. Upon their arrival, Sara struggled with what to pack. "What's the weather like in Destin right now?" she asked. Grissom sat on her bed, watching her.

"It's not quite as hot as it is here, but it feels hotter because of the humidity. High 80s, low 90s, mostly. And this is the perfect time to go. Early September—still hot, but the tourists have all gone home. I'd take plenty of skimpy swimsuits, tiny tank tops, and short shorts if I were you," he deadpanned.

Sara smirked at him. "I'm sure you'd like that. Problem is, most of my stuff is for work. I want to look cute for you. I just don't know what I have that is appropriate."

Grissom considered. "Well, pack what you can and we'll go shopping when we get there. Charlie said that there's plenty of shopping to be had down there. Outlet malls, the whole nine yards."

"Charlie?"

"The guy who owns the house. An entomologist friend at the University of Tennessee."

"Oh," Sara said with a nod. Switching gears back to his previous statement, she said, "Wait, so after all you've done for me already, you're planning on flying us to Florida and then taking me shopping for _more_ stuff?" She looked at him a little incredulously.

"Yup."

Sara raised her eyebrows and shook her head in disbelief.

"Ok then. I won't argue with you."

----------

An hour later, they were sitting in Grissom's living room, waiting for Catherine to come pick them up. Although they were getting ready to spend several hours on a plane, Sara had taken the idea of their first vacation together to heart, and had really wanted to look nice for the trip. She had paired navy blue capri pants with a tight white stretch t-shirt from the Gap. She wore her well-loved navy blue Chacos on her feet. Her jewelry consisted of small silver hoop earrings, a stainless steel watch, and a beautiful silver ring. She had on a hint of makeup, and she left her hair loose in its natural wavy state. Grissom thought she looked absolutely stunning.

The feeling was mutual, as far as that went. Sara had sat in Grissom's living room while he got his things together. When he had emerged from his bedroom, her jaw had hung open in shock. He was wearing an aqua blue short-sleeved Polo shirt, and khaki…shorts. Grissom in shorts was something Sara never expected to see in her lifetime. She knew her shock was irrational, considering that she'd seen him _naked, _for the love of Mary, but Gil Grissom just did not seem the type to wear shorts. For any reason. On his feet he wore Tevas. _Tevas, _for crying out loud! She had never thought that Grissom had an ounce of fashion sense, but damn it all, he looked _good!_ Those legs were gorgeous!

He had watched with an amused smile. She was obviously taken aback by his appearance. After ten or fifteen seconds, he had cleared his throat. Sara's eyes jerked up from their resting perch on his legs, and he tried his best to wipe the smirk off of his face. "See something you like?" he intoned.

Regaining her composure, Sara had replied, "Yeah. Everything." She paused. "Really, Grissom—Tevas? I would have never thought…"

Grissom couldn't resist the urge to tease her. "Well, what else do you think I would wear when crawling around creek banks looking for aquatic insects?"

She shook her head and grinned. "I should have known."

Now here they were, a few minutes later, sitting on the couch, idly watching TV while they waited for Catherine. When the doorbell rang, Grissom gave Sara a smile. This would be the first time any of their friends would see them together, as a couple. He tugged Sara to her feet and they walked to the door together. She entwined their fingers together as Grissom opened the door to Catherine.

"Hi!" she said brightly. Looking down at their entangled hands, she grinned even more broadly. Stepping inside, she impulsively reached out and hugged them both. After the tightly-shared three-way hug, she stepped back and took them in. "God, you guys look fantastic. I'm so glad you finally got over your hang-ups and did this. Grissom, you look ten years younger."

Grissom absolutely could not resist the opportunity. "Yeah, well, you'd be amazed at what getting laid will do for you," he deadpanned. He pretended to look confused as Sara and Catherine's mouths fell open. "What? What'd I say?"

"Damn, Grissom," Catherine muttered. Raising an eyebrow, she asked Sara, "Did you at least use the lingerie?"

Red-faced, Sara quietly said, "Yes. It was beautiful, Catherine. Thank you." She reached forward and pulled Catherine into another hug, which was eagerly returned. Catherine whispered in her ear, "You're welcome, Sara. I meant what I said. I'm so happy for you." When they pulled back, both women had tears in their eyes.

Grissom backed off, holding up his hands. "Ack, the estrogen level in here is quickly rising to uncomfortable levels. Can we change the subject or something?"

Recovering, Catherine coolly replied, "What, Grissom? Don't you want to give me more details about your evening last night?" She shot Sara an evil grin, which was quickly returned.

Grissom, for his part, just shook his head and turned toward their luggage.

----------

Half an hour later, Catherine had successfully maneuvered through the traffic at McCarran to reach the "drop-off" lane. As Grissom pulled their bags out of the back of her Denali, he thanked Catherine again for the ride. "Listen, Cath, I've got my cell phone with me, so if Ecklie doesn't buy the story about my mom, he can call me. I would prefer he didn't, obviously, but if you get in a pinch, it's no problem. I will convince him myself that I can't come home until my mother is safely out of the woods, ok?" Catherine nodded and shooed them away.

"I can handle it, Gil. You two crazy kids get out of here. And have fun!" she added.

As she drove off, Grissom and Sara stood grinning stupidly at each other. A woman passing by smiled at them, thinking that they were quite obviously newlyweds, leaving Vegas after tying the knot.

After a moment, Grissom broke free of his trance and picked up his suitcase. "Come on, Babe," he said. "We've got a plane to catch."

TBC…

**A/N: Why Destin? Because they say to write what you know, and I know Destin. My entire family rents a huge beach house there every summer, so... Besides, it's an absolutely beautiful, romantic place. I'm going to ignore the fact that Hurricane Ivan roared through in mid-September of this year (severely damaging my brother's house near Pensacola, I might add...), because this is my story and I can do what I want, dammit! ;) Destin took a pretty good hit, but as far as my story is concerned, it never happened.**


	18. The flight to Atlanta

The flight from Las Vegas to Atlanta was uneventful, with the exception of Sara inducting Grissom into the Mile High Club in what was possibly the smallest, hottest airplane bathroom ever constructed. Unfazed by the heat and closeness, Grissom had enthusiastically forged ahead, causing a giggling and eye-rolling Sara to proclaim, "Grissom, you are enjoying this way too much!"

With a playful growl, he implored her to shut up and rid herself of her panties. Sara tugged at them and then looked around, complaining, "Grissom, how on earth am I supposed to get them off? I can't even move!"

Grissom gave her a withering stare. "How am I supposed to know? You're the one with all the experience in this situation."

A giggle. "I know, but God, I was a lot more nimble, then…"

"Really?" He waggled his eyebrows. "We'll have to work on getting you back to that condition," he said.

After a moment, she managed to shed the offending piece of clothing, and they got to work. Grissom had never had sex in an upright position before, and he was surprised at how difficult it proved to be. Never one to be labeled a quitter, however, he surged onward. When he finally came, red-faced and moaning into her neck, she whispered into his ear, "Welcome to the Mile High Club, Gil." He seemed to find that incredibly hot, and moaned into her neck with even more force.

A moment later, he pulled back from her neck, and they looked at each other and burst out laughing. "Oh, shit," Grissom muttered. "If I look anything like you do, we're going to be in real trouble. I don't think there's any way to hide what we've been doing in here." He watched as Sara's red sweaty face suddenly transformed itself into a look of pure evil.

She gave a mischievous giggle and then just as suddenly, feigned innocence as she raised her eyebrows and asked angelically, "Why, Griss, didn't I tell you?"

"Tell me what?"

"About the reason the Mile High Club is so prestigious."

"Sara, what are you talking about?"

Again with the evil grin. "Griss, everyone on this plane knows what we've been doing in here. It really doesn't matter how discreet you thought we were. We're in the _forward _lavatory. You think people don't notice when a woman goes in, followed by a man a minute later?" She could not help the wicked smile that was creeping across her face, quickly becoming a full-blown grin. "When we step out of here, we're going to come face-to-face with a plane full of people who know exactly what just happened. That's why the Mile High Club is so exclusive—not many people have the balls to do it, knowing that they're probably going to get a round of applause when they emerge. Now, do you want to go first, or do you want me to be a man and do it for you?" She smirked and watched him carefully, waiting for his response. She figured he would go red with mortification, or rage, or both. To her surprise, he simply shook his head and muttered, "Crap. I'm going to get beaten up. I've haven't been beaten up since eighth grade."

Sara wrinkled her nose and eyebrows at him. She didn't know which statement to address first. She went with the first one. "Beaten up? Why would you get beaten up?"

"Because all those men out there will wonder what a beautiful young woman like yourself was doing in here with an old codger like me. They'll probably think I raped you." As that last sentence left his mouth, the faintest of shadows flickered across Sara's face. Grissom's heart fell into his shoes as he realized the probable implications. Remembering the angry white scar on her hip, he thought, _'Oh, shit. Oh, fuck. God, I had hoped it wasn't that. I prayed that her response to rape cases wasn't personal. God, I think that maybe it _is_…FUCK!' _It took only a millisecond for these thoughts to run their course. Remembering his earlier promise to drop the subject and not raise it again until Sara was ready, he touched her face and said simply, "I'm sorry, Baby. I wasn't thinking. I promise not to bring the issue up again until you're ready, but I do want you to know I'm sorry for saying that." The sorrow in his voice was evident, and Sara smiled at his contrition.

"It's okay, Griss." She reached up and squeezed his hand. Her smile faded as her eyes became distant with some unknown memory. "I promise we'll talk about it soon. I just—"

Grissom interrupted her, placing two fingers over her lips. "You don't need to explain yourself to me. I love you and I accept you unconditionally, with whatever baggage you're carrying. I'll wait patiently. After all," he said with a raised eyebrow, "I think you've done more than your share of waiting on me, eh?"

Sara smiled and shook her head. Dragging her mind back to their current predicament, she said, "So…you wanna go first? I'll follow after a few minutes."

In a particularly bold and un-Grissomlike move, he grabbed her hand and said, "Well, why don't we just go out together if everyone already knows what we've been doing in here?"

Sara's jaw dropped open. "God, Griss. What have you done with the Gil Grissom we all know and love? Are you on drugs?"

He laughed. "Come on, you game?"

She set her jaw. "Ok, let's do it. But you still have to exit first, even if I'm going to be right behind you."

"Deal."

After a few rudimentary attempts to make themselves look somewhat presentable, Grissom slid the latch back and opened the door. Holding Sara's hand in his own, he stepped out into the blissfully cool air. He figured he might as well get it over with, so he looked straight ahead at their traveling companions in the first-class section. They were more fortunate than Sara predicted. They didn't get applause, but they did garner quite a few large grins, as well as a couple of thumbs-ups from a pair of thoroughly wasted newlyweds. As Grissom led Sara back to their seats (which were, unfortunately, in the very last row of first class), a couple of businessmen-looking types reached up and punched his arm, muttering things like, "Way to go, man," and "Nice one, buddy." Grissom expected to feel nothing but keen embarrassment, but was surprised to feel an odd sense of pride. After all, he _was_ incredibly lucky to have a gorgeous creature like Sara holding his hand and doing naughty things in airplane bathrooms with him.

As they finally settled into their seats, a flight attendant sauntered by, smirking. "Can I get you anything, Sir, Ma'am?" she asked politely, but with a knowing smile. _'Dear God in Heaven. Even the flight attendant knows.' _Mentally smacking himself, he thought, _'Of course the flight attendant knows. It's not like she's never seen this kind of thing before.'_

Aloud, he said, "Uh," momentarily taken aback.

"Drinks _are_ complimentary in first class, Sir," she reminded him. He looked over at the besotted newlyweds. They had obviously been taking full advantage of all of the perks of flying first-class.

_'Damn, do I look like I need a drink? I could sure as hell use a cigarette right now, though. I guess a drink will have to do.'_

"Scotch, please."

During this entire exchange, Sara had been sitting next to him in her window seat, violently shaking with pent-up laughter. This was absolutely classic. She had no idea what kind of alien had taken over Gil Grissom's body, but she was sure as hell enjoying every minute of it. He was so…_laid back._ Anyone who had ever met the man for five minutes knew that there was not a laid-back bone in his body, but lately…who knew?

As an afterthought, Grissom said, "And a glass of wine for the lady here." As the flight attendant left to get the drinks, Grissom spoke to Sara, never removing his eyes from the forensics journal now lying in his lap. "Since you are so obviously enjoying this, I thought some alcohol might calm you down a little," he said dryly. Sara responded with a girlish giggle. Unable to help himself, Grissom added his own laughter to the mix as he reached over and laced his fingers through Sara's. She smiled contentedly as she leaned over and rested her head on his shoulder. He turned his head to plant a gentle kiss atop her curls. "I love you, Sara." He loved the way it felt—and sounded—to say that.

Brown eyes fluttered closed at the words. "Mmm," she murmured. "I love you, too."

----------

As the plane began its long descent through the clouds, the captain's voice came over the intercom. "Ladies and gentlemen, we are beginning our descent to Atlanta's Hartsfield-Jackson International Airport. We should be on the ground in about 35 minutes. The weather in Atlanta is stormy, with a temperature of 75 degrees. Because of the storm, we will likely encounter a fair amount of turbulence in our descent. If you have not already done so, please fasten your seatbelts now. For those of you who with connecting flights, I will now announce the departure gates of those flights…" As the captain began the long list of departure gates, Grissom nudged Sara awake. She wasn't wearing her seatbelt, and he wanted her to get it on before they encountered any turbulence.

"Sara? Love? Wake up, Sweetheart."

Sara lazily opened her eyes, raising her eyebrows and looking around with a yawn. She stretched her legs out in front of her as best she could. She thanked God for the extra leg room afforded by their first class accommodations. Grissom gently swept his thumb across her cheekbone, struck again by her beauty. "Baby, we're descending, but there's a storm in Atlanta, so the captain said to put on our seatbelts. There will probably be a lot of turbulence."

A look flashed across Sara's eyes—one that Grissom wasn't quite familiar with. She wrinkled her eyebrows together and clasped his hand tightly.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"This is so stupid…" she began.

"What is it?"

"Um…I absolutely love to fly, but I'm petrified of turbulence," she said sheepishly. "I mean, for God's sake, I have a degree in physics. I know that turbulence is no different than encountering a bumpy road while driving, and that the plane is _not _going to just fall out of the sky, but…" Her voice trailed off. She shrugged. "I don't know, it's not rational, but it scares the crap out of me," she admitted.

Grissom's heart squeezed at the intimacy she displayed by admitting her irrational fear to him. "It's okay, Sar," he said. "If you want irrational fear, here's one for you. Clowns creep me the hell out. I can't stand the damn things." He raised an eyebrow at her. "There. Feel better? You're not the only one with strange fears." She gave him a nervous giggle. "Just hold my hand through the turbulence. Squeeze as tightly as you want. It'll be fine, I promise." He gave the top of her head yet another gentle kiss.

Half an hour later, as the plane touched down on the wet tarmac in Atlanta, Grissom finally managed to extricate his hand from Sara's death grip. He flexed it painfully. She had certainly taken him at his word when he told her to squeeze as tightly as she pleased. To her credit, though, the tight clutching of her fingers was the only outward sign of her nervousness. And Grissom had to admit, the turbulence had been pretty bad. There were even a couple of drops that had gotten _his _heart racing. During the worst one, during which (by Grissom's best estimate) the plane dropped a few hundred feet, Sara had uttered a barely audible gasp. Once Grissom's stomach returned to its normal locale in his abdomen, rather than somewhere up in his head, he had reached over with his free hand and tickled her belly to distract her. The gratitude in her eyes had absolutely melted his heart (and momentarily dulled the pain in his other hand).

As the plane taxied to the gate, Sara glanced at his hand mournfully as he attempted to get some feeling back into it. "I'm sorry, Griss," she said with a grimace. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

Grissom chuckled. "It's okay. I'm sure the blood supply hasn't been permanently cut off."

Sara punched his arm lightly. "Hey, you're the one who told me to squeeze as much as I needed to."

Grissom nodded in agreement. "Noted," he said amiably.

----------

Fifteen minutes later, they were wandering around the airport, plenty of time to kill before their connecting flight. Grissom was being Grissom, spouting off his useless tidbits of information about Hartsfield and the city of Atlanta. God only knew where he picked up this kind of information.

"Sara, did you know that Hartsfield is the busiest airport in the world?"

"Really?" she replied. "I thought that distinction belonged to O'Hare…"

"Not anymore. And this airport is the largest employment center in the state of Georgia."

Sara gave him a withering look before turning on her heel and heading into a Sunglass Hut she had just spotted. It had dawned on her during the flight that she had forgotten to pack sunglasses.

Grissom followed her, unfazed and still yakking about the airport and the city. "Hartsfield has four runways of varying lengths—two Category III runways, one Category II runway, and one Category I runway. Oh, and this is cool—the underground People Mover connects all terminals together on a 3.5 mile loop. You never have to wait more than two minutes between trains. And as far as the city itself goes, Atlanta is the largest city in the Southeastern United States. Some very prestigious companies call Atlanta home. BellSouth, CNN, and SunTrust bank are all headquartered here. You've heard of Peachtree Street, of course. Did you know that there are over fifty streets in Atlanta with Peachtree in the name? Peachtree Battle Road, Peachtree Hills, and the list goes on and on…"

Sara stopped in her tracks and turned to face him. She tilted her head slightly to the side, raised an eyebrow, and gave him an 'I-don't-know-whether-you're-totally-annoying-or-totally-adorable' look. "Grissom," she started. She was about to say something totally sarcastic when she just stopped and asked him in wonderment, "Where do you _get _this shit?"

He stopped short and burst out laughing, unable to help himself. The way she was looking at him was simply too cute. Shaking his head, he stepped to her, throwing his arm lazily around her neck, and walked into the Sunglass Hut with her. "What do you want in here?" he asked.

"Oh," she replied. "It dawned on me during the flight that I forgot to bring sunglasses. Yeah, I know—I'm super slick. Who packs for a trip to Florida but forgets sunglasses, right?"

Grissom laughed at her self-deprecating act. "Hey, it could happen to anyone." Looking around, he said, "Well, pick out what you want. It's on me."

"Grissom—" she started.

"Shut up, Sara. Just pick out some sunglasses, for the love."

"Well, just so you know, I was going to buy Oakleys, but they're over a hundred bucks a pair…"

"What the hell?" Grissom said, yanking his own Oakleys off the top of his head and looking at them like they were some alien species.

"Uh, Grissom? You okay? What's wrong?" Sara was looking at him like he'd lost his mind.

"These things are over a hundred bucks a pair?"

"Yes…" Sara didn't know where he was going with this.

"Damn—Nick gave me these for Christmas. I mean, I figured they weren't cheap, but I never dreamed he'd spend that much on me."

Sara chuckled. This man was so brilliant, yet so adorably clueless about some things. Here he had laid out thousands of dollars for her in the last few days, and he was freaking over the price of some Oakleys. "Ok, so I take it you don't want to buy me the Oakleys, then?" Sara ventured.

"No, no, that's not it. I don't care—buy whatever you want," he said distractedly. "I just can't believe Nick spent that much on me for a Christmas gift. Why would he do that?"

Sara giggled again. "God, Griss, you're so dense sometimes. Nick did it because he adores you. He looks up to you, Hon. He did it because he _wanted_ to."

Grissom shook his head. "Remind me to thank him again when we get back, ok?"

"Sure thing, Babe."

Grissom's heart fluttered at her term of endearment.

A few minutes later, Sara had picked out a pair of sunglasses. The frame was silver, and the lenses had a slight pink tint to them. They looked perfect on her. As Grissom stood at the counter, paying for them, she wrapped herself possessively around his arm. Grissom was beginning to think he could get used to this.

As the clerk gave Sara the bag, she leaned up and kissed Grissom's cheek. "Thank you," she murmured.

He looked down at her, smiling. "You are so welcome."

They wandered back out into the Atrium of the airport. Their connecting flight would be leaving in about an hour and a half, so they still had a little time to explore before finding their gate. Sara gave Grissom's hand a sudden squeeze as she spotted something. "Ooh, I have an idea," she cooed. She tugged at him and he obediently followed her. She pointed up at the wall, where a sign proclaimed "Welcome to Atlanta" in huge metal letters. She dug in her purse for her phone. Grissom gave her a questioning look, but said nothing. Sara looked around for a moment before stepping up to a nice-looking couple.

"Excuse me," she said to the woman. "Would you mind taking a picture of my boyfriend and me?" she asked sweetly, handing the woman her cell phone. "Just push this button here, and if you don't mind, try to get the 'Welcome to Atlanta' sign in the picture." Grissom's stomach fluttered at her use of the word 'boyfriend.' _'Oh, my God…I'm Sara Sidle's boyfriend!' _he thought giddily.

Sara shoved him backward toward the wall. "This is for the guys at the lab, in case they don't believe Catherine. Here, kiss me while she takes the picture." Grissom was still in shock, but gathered his wits enough to pull Sara close and press his mouth lovingly to hers for a moment.

"Ok, got it," the smiling woman said. Grissom reluctantly pulled back from the kiss. Sara thanked the woman profusely for her time and took the phone back, looking at the picture. It actually looked pretty good, to Grissom's surprise. Sara typed a message to go along with the picture.

_Cath, Just in case the guys don't believe you. We all know the evidence never lies, right? You can prove we're in Atlanta together! Thanks for everything, Cath. Love, Gil and Sara_

Sara showed Grissom the message, then typed in Catherine's cell phone number and hit "send." She giggled like a little girl as she leaned into Grissom for a hug. Grissom smiled and wrapped his arms around her.

"Hey," he said. "Let's grab a bite to eat, then try out the People Mover!"

Sara just shook her head in amusement. Some things never change.

----------

Forty-five minutes later, they had enjoyed the food at Houlihan's and were headed to take the People Mover to their next gate.

"Grissom!" Sara complained when she saw it. "It's just a friggin' subway!" He had talked it up so much, she had been expecting something really cool.

"Yeah, what did you expect?" he smirked.

"You suck," she teased.

"Not as well as you do," he replied, making Sara's jaw drop in shock. He continued, "I won't even comment on the appropriateness of your jaw hanging open like that…"

"Damn, Grissom," she muttered, much as Catherine had after his last blatantly sexual comment that day. "What has gotten into you?"

He leaned in close and put his arms around her. Leaning down to nuzzle his face in her hair near her ear, he murmured, "I am so madly in love with you, and I loathe myself for not having allowed this to happen years ago. Any questions?"

Speechless, she just looked up at him, lips slightly parted, and shook her head.

TBC…

**A/N: Wanna know why I have such an intimate knowledge of the Atlanta airport? Well, first of all, I live about an hour and a half north of Atlanta, so I have oft utilized the airport there. But the real reason is that when my husband and I got married, we honeymooned in Cancun, and our flight left from Atlanta. We drove to Atlanta following our wedding, and the flight was scheduled to leave at 10 am the next morning. We arrived at the airport at 8 am, only to find that the flight had been pushed back to 11 am, then to 1 pm. The flight continued to be delayed, delayed, canceled, rescheduled, delayed again, and finally rescheduled. We ended up taking off at 11:30 pm that night, FIFTEEN AND A HALF hours after we arrived at the airport. We effectively lost an entire day of our honeymoon, considering we were originally supposed to arrive in Cancun in the early afternoon, and didn't check into our resort until 3 am. Let me tell you, by the time we boarded that flight, I never wanted to see Hartsfield again. Ugh. What a way to start a marriage, right?**

**Oh, yeah, and the Oakleys that Sara buys are exactly like the ones my sister has. My sister and I are both very similar looking to Jorja Fox in terms of coloring and such, so I figured if they look perfect on my sister, they'd look perfect on Sara. Yeah, I know--I'm really random today. It could have to do with the massive amount of allergy drugs that are in my system right now. Tennessee is beautiful, but it is a friggin' PIT when it comes to allergies.**


	19. Meanwhile, back at the lab

Meanwhile, back at the lab…

Catherine walked into the break room, assignments in hand. She caught the tail end of the three-way conversation between Warrick, Nick, and Greg. "Man, that's just not like either of them. What the hell's going on?"

"Not like who?" Catherine asked innocently, knowing full well who they were talking about.

Warrick answered for the group. "Hey, Cath. Where the hell are Griss and Sara? Neither of them have the night off, but no one's seen either of them around. It's just not like them to be late. We're a little worried here." Warrick's eye fell on the blue folder in Catherine's hand. "What, so you're in charge tonight? Where's Griss, Cath?" Warrick looked genuinely concerned for the well-being of his mentor.

Catherine looked around the break room. Ascertaining that the four of them were alone, she stepped back to the door and shut it. Turning back to her co-workers with a small smile, she said, "Ok, guys, I need to share something with you, but before I do, I need you three to know that your discretion is of utmost importance here." As if to drive her point home, she continued, "If any of you say a word about this to anyone who is NOT on the team, it is very likely that Grissom and/or Sara could lose their jobs." Her words had their intended effect. Warrick, Nick, and Greg sat in stunned silence, waiting for her to continue. After taking another furtive look around to make sure they were still alone, she continued. "With the possible exception of Greg, you will all be happy to know that Grissom has finally pulled his head out of his ass and realized that he and Sara are meant to be together." She surveyed the group for a reaction. The three otherwise highly intelligent men sat there with their mouths hanging open, looking for all the world like guppies. She continued, "He correctly figured that if they are going to start a relationship, they might need some time to themselves—to adjust to the situation—before throwing themselves back into work. So at this very moment, the happy couple is en route to Florida for a little romantic interlude." With a self-satisfied smirk, Catherine tossed the assignment folder on the table and plopped in a chair while she watched their reactions. Greg looked mortified and Warrick and Nick just looked…well, shocked. She wanted to enjoy this for a moment before she got down to the boring details of how they were going to keep Ecklie out of the loop.

Nick was the first to react. A slow grin spread across his handsome face and his thick Texas drawl came to the forefront as he said, "Well, slap my ass and call me Martha. I can't believe he finally did it."

Warrick finally found his voice. He gave Catherine a blank stare and said, "You're shitting me, right?"

Catherine leaned across the table seductively, making sure Warrick got a glimpse of cleavage. Resting her chin in her hand, she said in a low, throaty voice, "Warrick…would I lie to you?"

Warrick's reply was cut off by a thud. Looking over at the other side of the table, where Greg sat, they saw his head on the table. He looked up sheepishly. "Well, I guess I'm happy for them. God knows he's all she's ever wanted, but _damn, _I would have loved to have had a shot with her."

Warrick laughed out loud and threw his empty Styrofoam coffee cup at Greg. "Man, you never had a shot with her," he teased. Turning back to Catherine, he said, "Cath, you're serious about this? Griss and Sara are really going on vacation together?"

Catherine pulled her cell phone out of its clip on her belt. "You want proof?" she asked teasingly. She flipped the phone open and hit a few buttons. When she got what she wanted, she turned the phone around so that the display was facing the three guys. The look on their faces as they took in the picture of Grissom kissing Sara in the middle of the Atlanta airport was priceless. On impulse, she quickly flipped her phone around and took a picture of them to send back to Grissom and Sara.

She looked back at the guys, noting that Warrick and Nick now had full-fledged grins on their faces. Greg had a small smile on his face, too, she observed happily. Good, he wasn't too upset. Suddenly Nick snapped his fingers and pointed at her. "Cath," he said mischievously. "You probably know Warrick and I had an ongoing bet about how this would go down, so settle it for us. Warrick bet that Grissom would only come around after a bunch of prodding from Sara, but I said hell, no, Sara's way too proud for all that shit—that it would have to be Grissom who finally got off his ass and did something about it. So which is it?"

Catherine smirked as she answered. "Sorry, Warrick. Pay the man."

Warrick groaned as he dug for his wallet. "Aw, dammit, man." He pulled five twenties from his wallet and plopped them in Nick's outstretched palm.

"Thank you very much," Nick gloated as he pocketed the proffered bills.

Catherine rolled her eyes at the exchange. "May I continue?" The guys nodded their assent, and Catherine got down to business. "Ok, here's the deal. Obviously Ecklie would have Grissom's ass if he knew he was dating a subordinate. We can't let that happen, so we've got to cover for them until they get back. Once they get back, it won't be a problem—they'll just keep their personal lives personal. But we've got to convince Ecklie that there's a really good reason that they're both out of work—with no notice—for a week. So the story is that Sara has the world's worst case of the flu and that Grissom's mother had to have emergency surgery. I'm going to pull someone up from days to help cover the load, but if things start to get really hectic around here, you can bet that Ecklie is going to be all over us, trying to get Sara back in here, whether or not she's sick. I'll do my best to cover, but if Ecklie says anything to any of you guys, you can say that you've stopped by to check on her, and that she is in absolutely no condition to work. I also need you guys to be willing to work doubles if need be. I'm sorry to have to ask you guys that, but for Grissom and Sara…?" Her voice trailed off as the guys eagerly agreed.

Nick piped up first. "Absolutely, Cath. You know I'd do anything for Sara. Grissom, too."

Warrick said, "Not a problem. Hell, they deserve this, and I'll do anything I can to help."

Greg put in his two cents' worth, too. "Doubles, triples, whatever you need." He moved back into classic Greg-mode as he added, "Maybe this'll score me some points with the boss-man."

Catherine grinned at him. He had certainly recovered quickly from the disappointment of losing Sara to Grissom. "Thanks, guys. I knew you'd come through. Now, as far as who is in the loop on this, Brass already knows—in fact, from what I understand, we have Jim to thank for Gil's little wake-up call. Other than that, no one else is to know about Grissom and Sara's relationship. We can not let this get back to Ecklie, ok?"

The guys nodded fervently at Catherine. They all hated Ecklie as much as she did, and she knew that they would do everything in their power to protect Grissom and Sara from his vindictive wrath. She wasn't worried about them letting the cat out of the bag.

"Ok, guys, let's get to work, then." She picked the folder up off of the table and began handing out assignments.


	20. First night in Destin

**Dedication: I had to do it. Straight up, this goes out to ScullyasTrinity, whose writing kicks ass! If you have not read Stalemate in a Sandbox, you need to drop everything and read it this instant. It is…HOT. I so had to take a cold shower after chapters four, five, AND six. Damn. So Scully, here's to you! This is actually a really crappy chapter, though, so I'll write a better one later and send that one out to you, too. Does that work for you?**

By the time their flight landed in Ft. Walton Beach, Grissom and Sara were exhausted. Standing at the luggage carousel waiting for their bags, Grissom glanced down at his watch and was shocked that it was only 1 am local time. That meant it was only ten pm back in Vegas. His body felt like it was about 4 in the morning. He always had that reaction to air travel, though. _'Yeah,' _he thought wryly, _'and I'm sure the three orgasms in less than fifteen hours didn't have anything to do with it…'_ Sara could comfort him all she wanted about their age difference, but there was no mistaking the fact that three orgasms within the course of one day was nothing short of exhausting for a 48 year-old man.

Shaking himself back to reality, he glanced over at his new lover. Sara looked like she was about to drop. The realization made Grissom feel somewhat better. _'Ok, so maybe it's not just me,' _he mused.

He nearly groaned with relief when their baggage came into view. They grabbed their stuff and staggered through the airport to the Hertz rental counter. He glanced up at the woman at the counter and mumbled, "I have a car reserved. Grissom."

Grissom could only thank God that this woman was polite and extremely efficient. In no time, the proper papers were signed and they were declared ready to go. As a final courtesy, she asked if they needed a map. Grissom considered, then said, "Um, well, we're heading to Destin. My directions say to turn on to Gulf Shore Drive from Highway 98, and it's pretty straightforward after that, but I've never been here before and I don't have the faintest idea of how to find Highway 98." He clamped his mouth shut as he realized he was babbling in his exhaustion. The woman gave him a sympathetic smile.

"Well," she began, "you're in luck. It's pretty much a straight shot out to 98 from here. Once you get there, turn left and just keep going. You'll cross the Destin Bridge and Gulf Shore Drive is only a mile or so past that. It'll be a right-hand turn from this direction. Oh, and I don't know if you know this, but Britney Spears has a house on Holiday Isle." She shrugged. Grissom had absolutely no clue what she was talking about. Holiday Isle? Deciding it wasn't worth the mental energy it would take to figure it out, Grissom made a mental note of her directions, thanked her for her time, and headed with Sara out to the curb to get their car.

When they made it to the curb, Sara was more than a little surprised to see a gold-colored Chrysler Sebring convertible waiting on them. She raised a tired eyebrow at Grissom, who shrugged in response. "Didn't seem right to do Florida in anything other than a ragtop," he said. "What's the point of riding around in the sunshine if you can't enjoy it?"

He popped the trunk of the Sebring and hoisted their luggage in. He walked to the passenger door and opened it for Sara, then shuffled to the driver's side. Settling into the seat, he began to feel slightly more energized. He decided maybe the salty air would do them some good; reaching down between the seats, he found the button that would retract the convertible top.

"Mmm," Sara sounded as sky came into view. "I could get used to this."

----------

Half an hour later, they were making a right-hand turn onto Gulf Shore Drive. Sara was now holding the directions that Charlie had emailed him. "It says here that you'll go for about a quarter of a mile, and the road will make a sharp, 90-degree curve," she began. As Grissom approached the curve, he saw a large sign reading "Welcome to Holiday Isle."

"Oh," he muttered. "Now it makes sense."

"Now what makes sense?"

"When I told the lady at the rental counter that we were going to be turning onto Gulf Shore Drive, she told me that Britney Spears has a house on Holiday Isle, and I had no clue what she was talking about—"

"Which part?" Sara interrupted. "Who Britney Spears was, or the Holiday Isle part?" she teased.

"Shut up," he grumbled, pretending to look hurt. "I'm old, not dead. I know exactly who Britney Spears is," he said, teasing her right back. "I didn't know what she was talking about when she said Holiday Isle. I guess that sign explains it."

Sara cut in to read more instructions. "It's the second road to the right. Norriego Road." He followed her directions. "Now left on Vera Cruz. The house is on the left, it says." Finding the house, he pulled into the driveway. It was not spectacular, like some of the luxurious homes they had passed on the way in, but he knew that in this area of prime real estate, a friggin' _outhouse _would run you several hundred thousand dollars.

"Uh, Griss?" Sara's voice interrupted his deep contemplation of outhouse real estate values. "Does your friend Charlie leave a key under the mat, or what? He lives in Tennessee, right?"

Grissom gave her a withering stare. "Sara. Get real. The next-door neighbor has a spare key, and he was supposed to leave it in the lamppost by the door earlier this evening." He couldn't believe that Sara actually believed he would go to all of this trouble and not even think about how to get in the house. Sheesh.

She gave him a tired grin, properly chastised.

Five minutes later, they and their luggage were safe inside the house, exploring their home for the next week. The ground floor, although above ground, essentially functioned as a basement. A double garage took up half of the ground floor, and the other half consisted of two bedrooms, a bathroom, and a foyer with stairs leading up to the main floor. The main floor had four bedrooms, two on each side of the house. The two sets of bedrooms each shared a conjoined bath. The central living area consisted of a large kitchen/dining/living room. A sliding door in the living area led out onto a huge deck, jutting out over the man-made canal that the house was situated on. Directly underneath the deck was a double boat slip, which housed a pontoon boat and a WaveRunner. Stairs led from the upper deck down to a lower deck, where a pool and hot tub could be seen.

"Wow," Sara breathed as she took in the sight. "I can't wait to see this in the daylight," she murmured. Grissom bent and kissed the top of her head in reply. Turning back toward the living area, she took in the décor. She chuckled as she realized why it felt so homey here. It was obvious that the house was owned by an entomologist. On one wall was your typical, run-of-the-mill beach house décor—a hanging fishing net, a large framed display of just about every nautical knot known to man, and a dazzling framed picture labeled "Choctawhatchee Bay at Sunset." The other wall, however, was entomological paradise. There was the requisite collection of mounted butterflies, but it was dwarfed compared to the collection of mounted insects that Sara didn't recognize. She was looking at them quizzically when Grissom stepped up behind her.

"Stoneflies," he said. "Charlie's area of expertise is Order Plecoptera."

Sara rolled her eyes. "You guys…" she began, "are so damn weird."

In a sudden burst of playful energy, Grissom grabbed Sara around the waist from behind, picked her up off the floor and carried her squirming and shrieking into what he guessed was the master bedroom. He tossed her in a heap onto the bed and dove after her. He flipped her on her back and pulled her hands over her head. He pinned both of her wrists in one large hand and used the other one to tickle her belly. When she was laughing so hard that tiny tears were squeezing from beneath her eyelids, he finally released her, breathless and gasping. As he collapsed on the bed next to her, he said, "That was for calling me weird." This only made her laugh harder.

A few moments passed in silence, and they could both feel their fatigue weighing them down. Finally Grissom sat up and said, "How 'bout I bring the luggage in here and we get some sleep? We can finish exploring tomorrow after we're more rested." Sara murmured her agreement.

A few minutes later, Sara and Grissom were comfortably ensconced in each other's arms, drifting off to sleep. The last thing Sara was aware of hearing before sleep overtook her was the voice of the man she loved saying, "God, I love you, Sara Sidle."

**A/N: Yes, in case you're wondering, the "Charlie" who owns the house is an actual person—not that I have or ever will call him by his first name. He is the head of the biology department at my alma mater (he was also my adviser and mentor), and a damn fine entomologist who taught me everything I know. He does indeed specialize in Plecopterans, and I just figured if I'm going to write a story that has anything to do with an entomologist, he ought to get some props. So there. :) **

**And yes, Britney Spears really does own a house on Holiday Isle. The house I described is actually the house that my family rents every summer—even the street names are real. Go ahead, look it up on Mapquest! I dare ya. **

**Is anybody still reading this fluff? Have I completely lost my mind? Is it just me, or is there an echo in here? Hello? Helloooo?**


	21. Settling In

**Disclaimer: I still don't own CSI, but if it ever comes up on Ebay, I'll do my damndest. **

**Dedication: This chapter is dedicated to all of the crazy kids out there who have faithfully reviewed and boosted my ego when I thought that perhaps the fluff was so deep that no one would ever read again. I started to actually type out all your names, but there are a TON of you guys who have reviewed more than once, so I'll just say—thanks! You know who you are. **

The first thing Grissom was aware of when he woke up the next morning was the smell of Sara's hair. He quickly realized this was mainly due to the fact that his face was buried insaid hair. He breathed in the scent of her for a few moments before giving in to something he had fantasized about for years. He had oft dreamed of the perfect way of waking her up, and deciding that there was no time like the present, he painstakingly extricated himself from her and slid down the bed. He moved like a cat, not wanting her to wake up until…the opportune moment. The voice of Johnny Depp as Captain Jack Sparrow briefly flashed through his mind, and he cringed and shoved it away. At a moment like this, a man's voice was the absolute last thing he wanted rattling around in his brain.

He removed the little bit of blanket that was covering Sara's lower body. Thankfully, she didn't move. She was really out of it, he mused. He would be changing that soon enough, he hoped. Although sex had been the furthest thing from either one of their minds last night, she had opted to sleep nude, and for that he was thankful. Not only did he not have to attempt to disrobe her without waking her up, he could take the opportunity to just admire her naked form—again. Damn, he could not get enough of this woman. His eyes flashed past that angry white scar once again, and he had to stop himself from reaching out and tracing a line along it with his fingers. _'Patience, Gil. Give her time…'_

After drinking her in for a moment, he reached down and gently spread her legs. He began by dropping slow, sensuous kisses along the inside of her thighs. He was going to enjoy this.

----------

The confusion that normally accompanies the first vestiges of consciousness was only compounded by the feeling of extreme horniness that Sara Sidle felt. This was not a feeling she was used to waking up with. Going to bed with, ok, maybe, but not waking up. She was even more confused when she realized she was wet. Really wet. The final realization—the one that made her brown eyes snap wide open—came when she recognized the feel of Grissom's rough beard against her thighs. Sweet Mary, Mother of—

"Damn," she mumbled, watching him work. "What a way to wake up."

He chuckled lightly against her flesh, making her moan. She dropped her head back against her pillow and let him have his way with her. She was beginning to wonder if he'd had an exceptionally good teacher, or if he was just naturally gifted in bed. All she knew was thus far, she had not been disappointed by the skill he displayed with his hands, and ah, mouth. Her fingers, toes and face were beginning to tingle with numbness as all the blood traveled to one central location in her body. She barely noticed. And when she finally arched up off the bed with a loud gasp and began grabbing fistfuls of bedsheets, Grissom felt the distinct pride and satisfaction that comes to a man when he knows he has satisfied a woman. When she was done, he began to trail loving kisses up her belly as she laid there gasping for air. "That…" Gasp. "Was…" Gasp. "Incredible." Gasp, pant, gasp. "Shit, Grissom." He let her recover for a moment before silently asking with his eyes if it was okay to make love to her. She gave him a lazy, satisfied smile of assent, and as he loomed above her and entered her, he marveled that this was only the third time they had actually had intercourse. It had been less than 36 hours since the first time they had sex, and yet he already felt as though he knew her body as well as his own. He voiced this thought to her as he began moving inside her, and her reply nearly knocked him on his ass.

"Well," she began, her voice taut with emotion, "maybe that's the way it happens when you're finally with the one you're meant to be with."

----------

An hour later, they were lying in bed, snuggling, when they were startled by a knock on the door. Grissom grabbed his robe and ambled down the stairs to find a friendly looking gentleman at the door.

"Good morning. You are Dr. Grissom, I presume?" Grissom nodded and smiled. The man continued. "I'm David, Charlie's next-door neighbor. I live here all-year round. I just came over here to give you this. Charlie forgot to tell you a few things, so he emailed me and asked me to print it out and bring it to you." Grissom took the proffered sheet of paper and thanked David. The man smiled and began to leave, turning back to tell Grissom and Sara that they were welcome to ask him if they had any questions about the area.

Grissom looked down at the email in his hand.

_Gil,_

_I inadvertently left out some important information for you. First of all, the key to the boat is in the first drawer to your right in the kitchen. You'll find the wrist key for the WaveRunner there, as well. They both have full tanks, but if you should run low, there is a marina on the way out into open water. I wouldn't suggest taking the pontoon out into the Gulf unless it is an extremely calm day. The WaveRunner can go anywhere, however. To get out to open water, just follow the canal. The canal opens up into Choctawhatchee Bay. Make a left in the bay—you'll see Destin Bridge ahead. When you get to the Bridge, you're in the East Pass. If you go left from there, you'll be heading out into the Gulf. If you go right (under the bridge), you'll be heading back into Choctawhatchee Bay proper. In the middle of the Bay is a spot we locals call "Crab Island." It's a sand bar that is about two feet under water at low tide, and four or five feet at high tide. The water is the clearest blue I've ever seen. For a romantic interlude, I highly recommend taking Sara out on the pontoon to Crab Island for a day. I promise you won't regret it. _

_There's also a great little place called AJ's Seafood and Oyster Bar I wanted you to know about. It's located on Hwy. 98, but you can actually reach it by boat and dock at their pier. The top floor is Club Bimini, a very popular nightspot. I recommend their famous "Bushwhackers."_

_Please, enjoy yourself, and if you have any questions, feel free to call me._

_Charlie_

Grissom turned at the sound of Sara's voice calling his name. Walking back up the stairs, he found her at the breakfast bar with a glass of water, cell phone in hand. "I just checked my messages," she smirked, "and you have _got _to see what Catherine sent me!" She flipped the display around toward Grissom. Grissom leaned in and saw a picture of Nick, Warrick, and Greg. Nick had a stupid grin on his face, Warrick's mouth hung open in disbelief, and Greg just looked grossed out. Sara scrolled down to the message Catherine had left and handed the phone to Grissom so he could read it.

_Sara, I wish I could have had a videocamera to capture the guys' reactions. At first they were in disbelief, so I showed them the picture you sent me. I flipped the phone around on them and took their picture after they saw Grissom kissing you in the airport—this is their reaction. They truly had to see it to believe it! Hope you guys are having fun. –Cath_

Grissom chuckled in amusement. "Greg looked…enthused." Sara snorted in reply.

She took another sip of her water and set the glass down with a thud. "Uh, Griss, the place is bare, and I'm hungry. Why don't we get dressed and explore Destin? We can grab a bite to eat and then find a grocery store."

Grissom pulled the straps of her tank top down and ravished her shoulders with kisses as she giggled. "Sounds good," he mumbled.

----------

Two hours later they were back at the house, armed with enough groceries to feed them for a week. As they put the food away, Grissom quizzed Sara on what she wanted to do next.

"Lay out by the pool and be lazy," she snorted, as if it was the only _possible_ response.

Grissom laughed as he headed to the bedroom to grab his swim trunks. "Yeah, well," he called over his shoulder, "We're going to have a hell of a time explaining our matching tans to Ecklie."

Sara changed into her swimsuit, grabbed a towel and a boombox and carried them out to the pool with her. Grissom was already there, idly floating in the pool while hanging his arms over a pool "noodle" that he had found in the garage. Sara wrinkled her nose at him as she flopped on a lounge chair. "You look like a 12 year-old on that thing," she said with an adorable eye roll. Grissom splashed her in retaliation.

"Well, I can't stand just lying out in the sun with nothing to do, so I thought I'd get in the pool."

"With a pool noodle?"

"What's wrong with my noodle?"

"I'm not even going to dignify that with a response," Sara giggled. The man who had perfected the art of the double entendre was at it again, she mused.

She sighed contentedly as she let the sun soak into her skin. "Mmm, this reminds me of college…"

Grissom shot her a puzzled look. "College? Really, how does the Florida sunshine remind you of Boston?"

Sara snickered. "Not Boston…_college._ God, Grissom, spring break is as much a part of college as classes are!"

Still confused, Grissom could only say, "Huh?"

Rolling her eyes, Sara elaborated. "Spring break, Gil. I did the requisite Spring Break experience in Daytona Beach with some girlfriends my first three years of college. You know, tens of thousands of drunk college kids converging on one city for a week in March? Hello? Spring Break?"

A withering stare from Grissom. "Yes, Sara, I am aware of the Spring Break phenomenon. I just didn't have you pegged for the partying type in college."

A wistful look passed over Sara's eyes. "Well, yes, I did my share. I was kind of a loner in high school, and I was determined not to spend my college years like that. It would have been more fun if I'd had someone special to share it with," she said sadly. "I mean, my girlfriends were great, and I have wonderful memories of it. My apartment is full of pictures from college. It just didn't seem…I don't know, _meaningful, _somehow without someone special to..." She stopped. "I'm sorry, I'm not making any sense."

"Actually, you are," Grissom said quietly. "I do understand."

Sara tossed him a quiet, surprised look. "It would have been fun to have had you there for all that partying. 'Course," she drawled, unable to resist teasing him, "you'd have been 33 when I was a freshman, but that's okay…"

He beaned her on the head with his pool noodle. "Haha. Funny." He considered something for a moment. "Uh, this may strange, but you want to recreate your college years for a week?"

Sara sat up, curious. "Huh? What do you mean?"

"Well, let me ask you a question. When you were on spring break, what did you do?"

"Drink."

"Oh, come on, there must have been more to it than that."

"Not much," she smirked. "Ok, ok," she admitted. "The drinking was mostly a nighttime thing. During the day we'd lie on the beach or at the pool, play volleyball, go shopping, go parasailing, go to waterparks—stuff like that. You know, fun stuff."

"Then what did you do at night?"

"Go out to clubs. We'd hit a different club every night. We would dance, drink, eat, and try to find guys." The wistful look returned. "Usually my girlfriends had more success than I did. All the guys I met just struck me as immature, drunk, horny jerks." She locked her eyes with his. "This might sound stupid, but…I think that's one reason I always had such a strong attraction to you. You're the polar opposite of almost every man who has ever expressed interest in me. You've always been more interested in my mind than in just trying to get into my pants…" Her voice trailed off and she shook herself back to reality. "Uh, sorry, where were we?"

Grissom reached up out of the water and took her hand. Kissing it gently, he said, "Sara…you are an incredibly beautiful woman, and as much as I have always desired you physically…" He paused, unsure of how to phrase what he wanted to tell her. "Sara, your amazing beauty is intensified by your incredible mind. It's the whole package that interests me. I want you to know that."

"I know," she said softly.

They gazed at each other tenderly for a moment before Grissom remembered the point of their conversation.

"Sara," he began. "Let's do it. Let's just…play. We'll lie on the beach, go out on the boat, go shopping, go to a waterpark. At night, we can go find some good clubs. Let me be the guy you could never find in college," he said earnestly.

A slow smile spread across Sara's face. It sounded nice. Without warning, she launched herself out of her lounge chair and at Grissom, knocking him backward and underwater. When he surfaced, he shook the water from his hair and beard and dove toward her, causing her to swim frantically toward the deep end, shrieking in delight. He caught her and pulled her close to him with strong arms. Their eyes locked, suddenly caught in the moment. Grissom stared at her, noting how sexy her eyes looked. Her eyelashes were thick with water droplets and her hair hung in curly ringlets around her face. He slowly closed the distance between them and pressed his lips to hers, lightly at first, then more passionately. They stood in the pool for several minutes, tongues and hands sensuously roaming. When Grissom slipped his hand down her bikini bottoms, Sara moaned with pleasure, then said "A word of warning, Gil—sex in the water isn't all it's cracked up to be."

An inexplicable wave of jealousy washed over him at the thought of his Sara having sex with anyone else. Shaking it aside, he cocked an eyebrow and said, "And you would know this how, Ms. Sidle?"

She grinned at him and said, "It's most unfortunate, but you are not the first man I've ever slept with, Gil Grissom."

"And just how many men did you have sex with before me, Ms. Sidle?" He asked, both teasing and curious.

Sara took a deep breath and considered. It was now or never.

She looked him sadly in the eyes and said, "Willingly or unwillingly?"

TBC…

**A/N: Umm, if anyone's curious about the various places I'm describing in here (Crab Island, Choctawhatchee Bay, East Pass, the Destin Bridge, etc), you can see pictures at my little picture site. Click on my name at the top of this page, then click on the "homepage" link on my bio page. It'll take you to some good pictures of all the aforementioned places. It might help you visualize, if you're interested. **

**Thanks again for all the rockin' reviews!**


	22. Confusion and Reaction

Grissom felt as if he had sustained a physical blow to his chest. He sucked in a ragged breath, and some distant, detached, scientific part of his brain registered the fact that tears had involuntarily sprung to his eyes. His lips moved in vain for a moment before he finally succeeded in croaking out a single, stuttered word.

"Wh—What?"

Sara stood in the water, suddenly cold. Grissom's hands had dropped to his sides like dead weights when her words hit his ears, and her body, now bereft of his touch, yearned for physical contact with him. Her eyes glazed over as she latched her gaze on a pelican perched atop a deck on the other side of the canal.

"Why don't you trust me with certain cases?" she asked abruptly, seemingly ignoring his question. Grissom was jerked from his trance. "What?" he asked, confused.

"The really hard ones. Why do you always feel the need to protect me, hold me back?"

Grissom had no idea what was going on. She seemed to be jumping from topic to topic. "Sara, I—"

"Berkeley, 1994." Sara spoke as if in a trance, eyes unfocused and hazy as she looked at something nonexistent over his left shoulder. "Eight-week summer seminar. Introductory Forensics. Dr. Gil Grissom. Enrollment limited to twenty students." Her eyes suddenly snapped back to his, once again clear and focused. "The first seven weeks consisted of basic instruction in forensics and forensics techniques. Do you remember the last week, Gil?" She searched his eyes, seeing for the first time his reaction to her earlier words. He looked shell-shocked. She had done a number on him. "The last week of the course was essentially a practicum. There were eighteen students left in the class. Six groups of three people. Six cold cases. Each group with their own little unsolved, real life case. One week to analyze the evidence and tell you what we saw." Her eyes grew distant once again as she relived the experience. "The Signal Mountain ATV murders, Chattanooga, Tennessee. A triple homicide in the desert, Las Vegas, Nevada. . A serial rapist in Akron, Ohio. The BTK killer, Wichita, Kansas. The Frankford Slasher, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. And the case assigned to my group—A serial rapist in Boston, Massachusetts." She drew a breath and continued. "You gave us unsolved cases because you wanted pure forensic analysis. If you gave out closed cases, there was a chance that someone in the class would have been familiar with it, thus compromising their objectivity. It's tough to analyze the evidence objectively if you already know what happened." She paused. "Of course, no one solved their case, but it was an excellent evaluation of what we had learned over the course of the summer." She was shivering now, and she absently moved to the edge of the pool and hauled herself out. She crawled back onto her lounge chair and wrapped her beach towel around her protectively. Pulling her legs up to her chest, she began to rock back and forth like a child. Grissom was out of the pool in a flash, wrapping his arms around her protectively. As he watched a single tear slide down her cheek, his thoughts were a jumble. _'Think, Gil, think! What's going on here? Ok, start at the beginning. _"Willingly or unwillingly?" _All right, that implies—God, get a hold of yourself, just say it! Rape. She was raped. Oh, God, some monster hurt Sara.' _As he finally allowed his mind to utter the word, his own tears, fueled by blinding pain and white-hot rage, began to flow. He strained to hold them back until his throat felt like it would explode, and he finally gave in to the sobs. As he wept, his mind continued its frantic reasoning._ 'Then she started in on me not trusting her, then she jumped to the summer we met. What is she trying to say?'_ He gave up his quest for answers and turned to her. Her face was blank as she stared down at her toes, all the while rocking back and forth, but he could see tears brimming at the edges of her eyes. With massive effort, he quieted himself. He reached up and tugged at her chin until she was looking at him. His chin trembled violently as he begged, "Please, Sara, talk to me. I need to know. What are you telling me?"

Silence. Then, suddenly, "You gave me my own case, Griss. You don't trust me to handle tough cases with my close friends and co-workers in Las Vegas, but I spent a solid week with two people I didn't even know poring over every detail of my _own fucking rape case!_" she spat out vehemently.

**Chapter 24: Sara's Story**

**A/N: Hmm, I hope you guys aren't getting tired of my very random author's notes… See, I'm starting to regard you guys as family, so I just feel compelled to share every tiny little boring detail of my life with you crazy kids. ;) My big news today is…I got a job! As of January 3, I will be teaching high school biology at my husband's alma mater (would rather it be mine, but I'll take what I can get). I don't have teacher licensure, but my BS in biology makes me "highly qualified" under the No Child Left Behind Act. In fact, as the principal said, I'll probably be the most highly qualified science teacher there. :) Ok, people, everyone who thinks I'm **_**not**_** going to use CSI as a teaching tool on a regular basis, raise your hands! Looks around, sees no hands Hmm, I guess that answers **_**that.**_** The other really cool thing about the whole situation is that high school introductory biology courses usually do a unit that's really heavy in entomology, so I'm going to be in hog heaven on that one. Who knew a prissy former cheerleader (and current cheerleading coach) could get so totally excited over bugs?? So now everyone knows that I'm a total weirdo. My secret is out. Damn!**

**Dedications: Burntsugrr, whose Grape Lucidity on Ice just totally melts my butter. Also, Almeida's-Angel24, who is yet another Memphian who reads this story (Ok, ok, I know I'm always ragging on Memphis, saying it sucks, but I really did have some killer good times when I was there—let's just say that the Pyramid gets better concerts than anything in Chattanooga)! And always, my dear friend Michele Grahn, who writes some kick-ass fanfic herself!**

Sara's mouth slammed shut as she realized in shock how angry and accusing she sounded, and she clamped her hands over it for extra measure. Her eyes were full of tears, and a small sob sounded in her throat as she looked at her lover. _'Shit, Sara. It shouldn't have been like this, you shouldn't have told him like this, he couldn't possibly have known. God, look at him…' _She wanted nothing more than to throw herself into his arms and tell him that it was okay, that it had all happened so long ago, that she had _him_ now, and nothing would separate them. But as she looked into his blank, deadened eyes, she knew that nothing she could say right now would make a difference. He was a man struggling with the consequences of his actions, however innocent those actions may have been. Fear crept into her heart as she continued to watch him. He was utterly still.

Suddenly, and without warning, he began to mumble. Sara leaned forward and strained to hear what he was saying, and the realization dawned that he was going over the case in his mind, trying to reconcile what he knew of the case with the fact that Sara was a victim.

"Six victims, all young women. All raped in parks late at night over a period of eight months," he mumbled almost incoherently. "All victims were," he choked on the next words, "severely beaten and mutilated." Suddenly he jerked his head up at her. Desperately, he cried, "Sara, I read that file a hundred times. I deleted all the names for our class exercise, but," his voice rose as tears suddenly spilled from his eyes, "_your name was not in that file!"_

Sara leaned forward and pulled him to her with one hand as she hastily pawed at her own tears with the other. She hugged him tightly, then released him as she drew in a ragged breath. "Grissom…think back. What do you remember about the victims?"

"All college students. All…brunette." He closed his eyes at the words. "All above average height. The ages were…" He thought back quickly and Sara was amazed at his mental acuity. He could always remember the tiniest details of the oldest cases…

"Valerie Williams, 23; Lindsay Thomas, 23; Melissa Alexander, 21; Jessica Hudson, 19; Alisha Alford, 18; and…" he sucked in his breath in a sharp hiss as the realization dawned. "A victim whose name was withheld because she was a minor," he said, his voice breaking. He looked up at her with the most child-like look she had ever seen grace his features and then screwed up his face in momentary confusion. "But, you were in college…how could you be a minor?" Her heart broke as she realized he was desperate for this not to be true.

"Grissom, my birthday is—"

"September 16th," he cut her off, dully, as sudden understanding washed over his features. "Late birthday," he whispered. "You were still seventeen when you began college," he said, to no one in particular.

She breathed in slowly, preparing herself mentally for the story she was going to tell for the first time in fifteen years. She picked at her cuticles as she began. "It happened eight days before my 18th birthday. September 8th, 1989. I had been in Boston for only three weeks," she whispered. "I told you I had a wonderful roommate my freshman year. She's the only reason I made it through." She paused as she remembered the roommate she had loved so well. "Ashley pulled me out of my shell. She saw something that no one else had ever seen before. I was such an outsider in high school, but Ashley looked at me and saw a girl who had the potential to be smart _and _popular. I never realized the two could co-exist. She got me to open up a little bit. She took me to parties, taught me how to drink," (Sara smiled at this) "and introduced me to guys. And damn it all, she was right. People liked me. For the first time in my life, I was popular." Tears sprang to Sara's eyes as she recalled the amazing feeling of being well-liked on campus. "I mean, damn it, it was Harvard—everybody was smart, so I wasn't an oddball because of that. All of a sudden it was _cool _to be smart. And then suddenly, on top of it all, everyone thought I was so pretty. No one thought I was pretty in high school. It was a feeling unlike anything I'd ever experienced." Sara looked up at Grissom sheepishly. "I would like to be able to say that being popular never mattered to me, and for the most part, it didn't. Still," her voice dropped. "I think there's a little part of everyone that wants to be accepted…" She shook herself back to reality. "It was a Friday night, and Ashley and I were going to an off-campus party. We got ready together and we left the dorm at about 10 that night." Sara's eyes softened as she remembered. "I was wearing this short denim skirt because Ashley said I had nice legs and I should show them off more often. She told me to wear heels with the skirt, so I did." Her face hardened. "That was a mistake. The heels kept me from running."

Grissom's eyes closed at her words.

Sara continued. "We went to the party and I only stayed for about an hour. I had a couple of beers and got really tipsy. That was only the fourth or fifth time I'd had alcohol, so it didn't take much. It had been a rough week in class, and I just didn't feel like socializing, so I told Ashley I was going to take a walk and I'd meet her back at the dorm later. She had met this guy, so she agreed. It was a stupid mistake on both of our parts. I was the one who ended up getting hurt, but it could have just as easily happened to her. She didn't know that guy she was with… We should have known better, but we didn't. We were only freshmen."

Sara stopped and swiped at her eyes. The tears were flowing freely now. She stole a glance at Grissom, who was staring off into the distance, tears evident in his eyes. She touched his arm and his gaze snapped back to her. "Do you want me to stop?" she asked gently.

He looked tenderly into her eyes. "Yes. I want you to stop. I want to wrap you up into my arms and pretend that this never happened to you. I don't want to hear anymore, because hearing it means acknowledging that someone hurt you." He stopped and swallowed. "But as long as you're ready to share it, I have to hear it. Making you stop would be the most selfish thing I could do. _You_ can't run away from it. It _happened_ to you. And you're the most important thing in my life. So _I'm_ not going to run away from it." He looked up at the orange and white flag sticking out from the edge of the house, as if it held the secrets to the universe. After pondering the large "T" in the middle for a few more moments, he paused and sucked in a shaky breath, moving his gaze back to her. "Your problems are my problems now. I need to know." He stopped, indicating that she should continue whenever she was ready.

"There was a park about half a mile from the house where the party was. I had discovered it almost immediately upon my arrival in Boston, and it was a good spot for jogging. I decided to take a quick stroll through it to clear my head before catching a cab back to my dorm." She hung her head in shame, and her voice dropped to a mere whisper. "I was walking, feeling a little dizzy from the alcohol, and there was this…guy…walking toward me on the path." Her eyes became hazy with the memory. "He had on a black hooded sweatshirt and jeans. He had the hood pulled up, and I remember thinking that that was funny, because it's still warm in Boston in early September. He had his head down to the ground, so I never saw the ski mask over his face until it was too late." She shuddered. "Just as I was about to walk past him on the path, he—he reached out and grabbed me." Her voice was trembling now as she relived her nightmare. "He put one hand over my mouth and dragged me into some trees. I tried to run, but the heels… I tried to scream, but it was so muffled." Her voice hitched, and Grissom reached out and took her hand, brushing his thumb over her soft skin. She found the strength to continue. "He had a huge knife—the kind hunters carry. He…He slammed the butt of the knife into my face to subdue me."

Grissom thought he would be physically sick.

"He looked me up and down and then he said—" Sara stopped to compose herself. The tears were falling harder now. "He said, 'Well, now, we wore a skirt tonight, didn't we? This is going to make my job a little easier.'"

She watched Grissom carefully. He looked nauseous. It was too late to back out now, though; she had to continue.

"He shoved my skirt all the way up to my waist, then yanked my panties off. I had begun to recover enough from the blow to my face to resist, and I tried to claw at him. My reward for that was a broken wrist." She absently cradled her left wrist in her right hand as she said the words. "At that point I was in too much pain to do anything but lie there, and that's—that's when he—he…raped me." Tears were streaming silently from her eyes now. She looked up at him in desperation, as if asking him to please help her, to please make the pain go away. "The pain…God, it hurt so much. I cried out with every thrust, and he just kept his hand clamped over my mouth, telling me to just be quiet, and it would all be over soon. When he—when he, um, climaxed," she shut her eyes against the words, "his grip on my mouth softened and I saw a chance for help. I shoved his hand away and screamed bloody murder." Her face hardened at the memory of what happened next. Her voice became bitter. "That fucking bastard was furious with me for interrupting his pleasure. He had to interrupt his orgasm to shut me up." She peeled away the towel that was wrapped around her, revealing her left hip. She tugged the left edge of her bikini bottoms down, exposing the ugly scar. "This was my punishment."

Grissom gagged, then sucked in a deep breath and got his reflexes under control.

"He jammed the blade in, all the way to the hip bone, then yanked it toward him, severing every muscle in the way." A pause. "Surgery fixed it, but I had a limp for six months.

"He knew someone might have heard me, so he stood up, kicked me in the ribs, and ran off." She grimaced. "He was right. A Harvard professor out for a jog had heard me screaming. It took him a few minutes to find me. I was lying on the ground, beaten and bleeding, with my skirt up around my chest, and my pantieslying next to me." She was shaking.

"The rape kit was almost as bad as the rape. I hadn't even had my first gynecological exam yet, so I had no idea how humiliating it is to put your feet in stirrups and let some stranger poke and prod you. The doctors, nurses, and investigators were all so…cold." Her eyes snapped up at Grissom. He suddenly understood why she was so gentle and patient with rape victims.

Her eyes clouded as she slipped back into the past. When she spoke, Grissom wasn't sure if she was speaking to him or just remembering aloud. "It's strange," she whispered. "Of all the things that stand out about that night—the beating, the stabbing, the kicking—the one thing that I always remember the most is the pain when he was in me. I never knew sex could be so painful." Her eyes locked with his and he suddenly had no doubt that she was addressing him. As the next words left her mouth, the entire world around them faded into nothing, and it was just her—and him—sitting on a lounge chair.

"I was a virgin."


	23. Aftermath

**Dedication: To Tally1967, who is an English teacher at UT and appreciates my various Tennessee references that I've sprinkled everywhere. If y'all haven't noticed, I'm a tad obsessed with my home state. At least once a month I take a look around at the scenery and then immediately call my parents and thank them--again--for allowing me to grow up in such an amazing place.**

Grissom stared into her eyes for a split-second before lurching violently off of the chair and over to the edge of the deck. His torso hit the ground—hard—as he leaned his head over the canal and vomited.

Sara grabbed her bottle of water and rushed to him. Kneeling beside him, she stroked his curls as he finished heaving. She looked at the side of his face as he lay there, breathing heavily, tears flowing from his eyes. He looked up at her and she wordlessly handed him the bottle of water. He rinsed his mouth gratefully and sat up.

"Can we go inside?" he mumbled hoarsely. Sara nodded her assent, and she pulled him to his feet. He stumbled weakly toward his beach towel, and Sara put her hand on his arm to stop him.

"Leave it. We'll get it later. Let's just go in."

When they were back in the house, Sara looked at the couch, then back up at Grissom, asking silently if he wanted to crash there or in the bed.

"Bed," he whispered.

When they reached the bedroom, Grissom started to fall onto the bed, but Sara kept him upright. "We're wet. We need to change or we'll freeze to death in here. The A/C's on," she said logically.

Grissom stood numbly and allowed Sara to pull his wet swim trunks off. He stepped out of them and caught the sweatpants Sara threw his way. She yanked at the ties around her neck and back, and her bikini top fell to the floor. She slipped the bottom of the swimsuit down her legs, and Grissom stared at the mocking scar—a visible, tangible, cruel reminder of the horror that Sara had lived through. He clenched his fists as he thought of the unfairness of it. Was it not bad enough that she had to go through it once? Why should she have to relive it every time she looked at her body? As Sara pulled her own sweatpants up, removing the scar from his line of vision, she seemed to read his thoughts.

Taking his face in her hands, she said, "It's okay, Griss. The scar is a part of me now. I don't think about it every time I see it…"

Grissom ignored her statement. "Tell me about…after," he said abruptly. His voice softened. "If it's okay with you."

Sara sat on the bed next to him. "Of course it's okay with me." She pushed him back a little, indicating that she wanted to snuggle with him as she related the aftermath of her ordeal. In response, Grissom stacked the pillows against the headboard so they could sit up. He scooted backwards and opened his arms to her. She took her place beside him and buried the left side of her face in his chest as he wrapped his arms protectively around her.

"As I said, a Harvard professor—Dr. Durham—found me lying there. He was so kind. He found me, and when he realized I was a Harvard student and likely had no family in the area, he insisted on staying with me every step of the way. He pulled off his t-shirt and used it to try to control the bleeding in my hip. He had a sweatshirt tied around his waist, and he used it to cover me up, so I wouldn't feel so exposed." She snorted. "Like it mattered at that point." Her face softened again. "It was thoughtful, though. He screamed for help because he was terrified to leave me. He rode in the ambulance with me on the way to the hospital.

"I think we've already established that the rape kit sucked. I barely remember even being asked for my permission. I was on a morphine drip for the pain, and I was pretty out of it, so this nurse grabbed my feet and shoved them into the stirrups, then pulled my knees apart…" At this, Sara began to cry again. Grissom stroked her face as his own eyes became moist. This was killing him to hear, but he knew his pain was nothing compared to hers. "You can't imagine how vulnerable and exposed that feels to a woman who has just been violated in the worst way. You've just had a man force your legs open and thrust himself into you without your consent. Then you get stuck on a table in this bright room, with your feet up in stirrups, while a doctor treats you as a piece of meat—mere evidence in an investigation." She shuddered. "And the examination _hurt_, too. I had severe bruising of the labia, not to mention the numerous vaginal tears I sustained." She stopped and looked into Grissom's face. Her voice took on something of a detached, scientific quality. "Rape hurts enough for women who are already experienced sexually. Without the vaginal lubrication provided by an aroused woman, sex is…painful, to say the least. But for me…" She stopped. "Despite the fact that I swam and ran track in high school, in addition to dancing…my hymen was still fully intact." He looked down at her, understanding flooding his face. She closed her eyes and whispered, "I felt it tear. There was blood everywhere. It hurt so much." She squeezed her eyes tighter as the tears started yet again.

She sobbed against him silently for a moment. He held her tightly, stroking her face and hair, and placing small kisses on her head. He rocked her back and forth, trying to soothe her pain. After a moment, she looked up at him and grazed her fingers across his face in a silent thank-you.

"After the rape kit, the nurse pumped me full of birth-control pills so I wouldn't get pregnant. I was sick for days—and the anesthesia forsurgery only made it worse.

"The investigator was a real bitch about the whole thing. I mean, she wasn't inherently mean to me, but her lack of concern and her indelicacy in her handling of the situation definitely left a lot to be desired. I was the fourth victim, and they knew they were dealing with a serial rapist at this point. The sketch artist was brought in, but the only details I could give them were about his eyes. He had brown eyes, and long eyelashes. That's it." She shrugged helplessly. "That was the whole shebang. That's all I could tell them.

"He left me with a shattered left cheekbone, a broken left wrist, two cracked ribs, and the scar on my hip. Surgery was scheduled for the next day. The doctors were able to repair my cheekbone without too much trouble, but the hip was a bigger deal. The muscles were just…severed. It took them several hours of work to fix things, and I was in physical therapy for months afterward.

"When I woke up, I looked like a mummy." She smiled wanly at the memory. "I had this huge bandage on my head, bandages around my ribs, a white cast on my wrist, and bandages all over my hip.

"I was in the hospital for a week. I got to go home on my birthday. Dr. Durham took me to stay with him and his wife. They never got the guy. But you know that already." Sara waved her hand helplessly, as if she knew she should say more, but had nothing to give.

Grissom sat in silence, digesting all that he had heard. As he ruminated, a white-hot fiery rage began to build in his chest. Sara felt him stiffen and turned to look at him. She gazed into his eyes, confused for a moment at the expression reflected there—one she had never seen in those eyes before. Rage. Murderous fury. She watched in detached awe as the muscles of his jaw clenched and unclenched. Finally, she spoke.

"Grissom—"

He interrupted her, speaking with a voice that Sara had never heard and never wanted to hear again. Through clenched teeth, he uttered, "That son of a bitch better pray that no one ever finds him. Because if they do…" He stopped and looked Sara straight in the eyes. "I will kill him."


	24. Facades dropped

**A/N: Sorry for the delay in getting this chapter up. I'll just be honest with you guys: it sucks. My mind is kind of mushy right now. It turns out that getting an actual, full-time, grown-up, degree-requiring job takes a lot of paperwork. And I think we can all agree with the particularly Grissom-esque viewpoint that paperwork BLOWS.**

**I was going to dedicate this to someone, but I'm about to fall asleep sitting up, and I can't remember who, so it'll have to wait until next chapter. For now, I'll just dedicate it to all my readers who live in Tennessee, used to live in Tennessee, have thought about living in Tennessee, or passed through Tennessee once on their way to visit their great aunt Edna.**

Sara's breath caught in her throat as she took in the magnitude of what Grissom had just said. She knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was serious. If he ever found the man who had raped her, Grissom would kill him for what he did to Sara. And no one would ever know.

"Grissom—"

He pressed his thumb to her lips, effectively silencing her.

"I mean it, Sara. What that bastard did to you is unforgivable. If he is ever found, he will never make it to trial. I'll make sure of that."

Sara leaned her head against his chest and contemplated how far she wanted to take this vein of conversation. Deciding that it was pointless to argue, she dropped it. If her rapist ever surfaced, he would die at Gil Grissom's hands, and she was powerless to stop it. For the first time in her life, Sara Sidle was grateful that the man had not been caught. Losing her virginity to a rapist had been bad enough; she didn't want to have to worry about protecting said rapist from Grissom's brand of vigilante justice.

She pressed her head into his chest with a sigh, and she felt his arms tighten around her. He rested his chin atop her head, and after a moment she felt moisture on her hair. He was quietly sobbing. She jerked her head up at him, alarmed. His emotions were all over the charts—sadness, desperation, anger, full-blow rage, and back to weary sadness.

"Gil?"

He looked at her in anguish, tears flowing down his cheeks. "I'm so sorry, Sara. I'm so sorry this had to happen to you." She gently shushed him, making soothing noises with her mouth as she stroked his cheek. He softly pushed her hands away and spoke again. "I feel so inadequate. You've just told me the most horrifying story of your life, and you have to comfort _me._ Something is wrong with this picture. I'm sorry I'm not the man you need me to be." He looked ashamed, and before Sara could reassure him, he spoke up softly. "What can I do to help you, Sara?"

She smiled tenderly at him. "You can love me."

"Done. Next?"

Softly, "That's all I need, Gil. I'm really okay. I know it seems shocking to you, but the thing is, I understand what you're going through, and there's no need to be embarrassed by your reaction. You've just learned that the woman you love" (at this she blushed slightly) "was raped. It's a shock. The pieces of the Sara Sidle Puzzle are starting to fall into place, and you're learning what makes me tick. You're furious that someone hurt me. You probably feel guilty that you never knew before, although you shouldn't. How could you have known? But I, on the other hand, have had fifteen years to deal with this. Yes, every September 8th sucks, yes, it hurts to remember it, and it hurt like hell to tell the story today—it's a story that no one in my new life knows. But I needed to tell you, and you needed to know." A small smile spread across her face as she placed a gentle kiss on the side of his neck. "Actually, Grissom, your reaction today tells me how much you really love me," she said softly, "and if possible, I love you more for it. I'm sorry you threw up, though," she said with a tiny chuckle. This last comment elicited a small smile from Grissom. Mission accomplished. With that smile, a huge weight lifted from Sara's life. She had finally succeeded in dropping her facades and letting someone get close to the real Sara Sidle. She had told him the truth: she really _was_ okay. Was she over it? No. Glad it happened? Hell, no. But was she okay? For the first time in her life, yes.

"Besides," she added. "The rape led me to you."

He jerked away as if he'd been burned. Sara quickly explained, "Forensics, Grissom." She dragged in a deep breath. "The investigating officer may have been a complete bitch, but that doesn't mean I didn't want to know every last detail of my case. I hounded the hell out of that woman. I knew nothing about forensics, but I made it my mission in life to learn everything I could about the process. It became kind of an obsession—I don't know, some sort of a stress outlet, I guess. I earned my degree in physics, then when I went to Berkeley and had the opportunity to take your seminar…" Her voice trailed off and she shrugged. "The rest, as they say, is history…"

He considered. With a serious voice, he asked her, "May I ask you a question?"

"Of course."

"For the love of God, Sara, when I handed out those cases, why didn't you _tell_ me?" he cried in anguish. "We were friends. I would have given you a different case."

"Grissom, that's just ridiculous on so many levels I don't even know where to start. First of all, yeah, okay, we were friends—we had this connection, but you know me. Do you think it's really my style to walk up to someone I've known for less than two months and say, 'Uh, yeah, hi, I just wanted to let you know that I can't do this because the anonymous underage victim in this file is _me._'" She snorted. "As if."

He started to say something, but she put up a hand to stop him. "Second of all, Grissom, when have you _ever _known me to back down from a challenge _or_ ask for special treatment?"

Grissom gave her a wry smile. She had a damn good point on that one. He sighed tiredly and reached out to pull her back against him. She had sat up during her discourse on Sara Logic. Brushing her hair back from her neck, he kissed it gently and whispered into her ear, "God, Sara, I'm so sorry I put you through that. I don't know if I'll ever be able to forgive myself. God, you have to believe me, if I had had _any _idea it was you—"

Sara scoffed, interrupting him. "Gil! Of course you didn't know! I would never blame you for that! My point in starting this entire conversation was that if I can handle _that,_ then I can handle everything the lab throws at me and more. I just want you to know that I love you for trying to protect me, but it's not necessary. _And,_" she said pointedly as he started to ask her a question, "I give you my word that I'll tell you if I ever come across a case I don't think I can handle."

With his impending question answered by the seemingly psychic Sara Sidle, Gil Grissom closed his eyes as a small smile graced his lips. He fell asleep like that, arms securely around the woman he loved enough to kill for.

----------

Two hours later, Grissom woke up. Sara was lying next to him, somehow having disentangled herself from his grip. He took the opportunity to curl up next to her and study her face. He saw no discernible scars in the vicinity of her left cheekbone. The plastic surgeon had done a damn fine job, he mused. He glanced down at her left wrist. Unless they had inserted pins, he knew there would be no scars from the break, but he inspected it just the same. His gaze slid down her body to her left hip, where a tiny bit of the white scar was peeking out over the top of her sweatpants. He couldn't help himself; he scooted down the bed and rested his lips gently atop the bit of exposed flesh. Her skin was so soft and warm. She moved a bit, and Grissom glanced up her body to see a pair of sad brown eyes looking back at him.

"I'm sorry," he said, straightening up.

"Don't be. I just don't want you to dwell on it. You needed to know, and now you know. But we're here to have fun and get to know each other. This was a necessary step in getting to know each other—now let's get on with the fun part!" She flashed him the megawatt, trademarked, patented, copyrighted, reserved-especially-for-Gilbert-Grissom Sara Sidle Smile. It was so bright and genuine that Grissom couldn't help but laugh out loud.

"Ok, Miss Sidle—what do you want to do, then?" He glanced at his watch. "It's 3 pm—we've still got all day."

She contemplated her options.

"Let's take the boat out!"


	25. Unexpected Question

**Dedication: To maggienhawk, who drove through Tennessee once on her way to visit her Great Aunt Emma.**

Grissom managed to talk Sara into taking the WaveRunner out instead of the boat. They couldn't take the pontoon into the ocean, and he wanted to wait to visit Crab Island until they had the whole day for it. So he was pleasantly surprised that when he suggested taking the WaveRunner, Sara agreed wholeheartedly.

Grissom grabbed the wristkey from the kitchen drawer, and after locating two appropriate-sized life jackets, they were on their way, Sara's arms wrapped comfortably around Grissom's waist.

He found his way out to open water with no trouble, but it took nearly 20 minutes at idle speed. By the time they got to open water, the hot sun had combined with the lifejackets to create two very sweaty bodies. As Grissom broke into the East Pass and headed toward the Gulf, Sara squeezed him and said, "I gotta get in the water for a second, 'k?"

Grissom obediently killed the engine and turned to Sara as she unsnapped her life jacket and dove off the side of the watercraft into the clear, cool water. As she surfaced, Grissom was again taken by her beauty. Her hair hung straight down, wet and sleek, and her eyelashes were thick with salt water. He loved the new bikini she'd donned for their expedition. It was navy blue with teal piping on the edges. The top half was a halter style, which looked fantastic on her.

Deciding that the cool water looked even more enticing with a scantily-clad Sara Sidle in it, he took off his own lifejacket and dove in after her, causing her to laugh with delight. They swam and wrestled playfully in the water for a few minutes before deciding to try out the waves in the open ocean. Sara watched in adoration as Grissom clumsily attempted to climb back aboard the personal watercraft. After slipping a couple of times, he looked at her and said breathlessly, "This is harder than it looks," causing Sara to break into a fit of giggles. When he finally succeeded in boarding, Sara skillfully clambered up behind him, causing him to grumble something about "looking stupid in front of the girls."

Five minutes later they were in the open ocean. Grissom maneuvered the WaveRunner over a few small swells, trying to get the feel of the craft. The last thing he needed was for Sara to get hurt because of his inexperience. When he was confident that he had a feel for the boat's capabilities, he set off toward a larger wave, gunning the engine as he went. He hit the wave at the perfect moment, sending them flying airborne. Sara squealed in utter delight, causing Grissom to throw his head back and laugh heartily.

A few minutes later, Sara was begging to drive. After they precariously switched places and Grissom placed the keystrap safely around her wrist, Sara gunned the engine and took off, Grissom bouncing wildly behind her. "Whoa! Adjust the trim! There's too much weight back here!" he shouted as he almost flew off the back of the WaveRunner.

"Huh?"

"You have to adjust the trim to compensate for weight distribution and waves—it affects how bouncy the ride is. When I was in front, the weight was more evenly distributed, but now that I've moved back, my weight is tilting the front of the boat up and making us bounce."

They experimented with the knob for a few minutes; After trying in vain to find a setting that kept Grissom from feeling like he was riding a wildly galloping horse, Grissom gave Sara a pop kiss on the side of her head and dove into the Gulf. She tossed him a surprised look and said, "Where are you going?"

He smiled at her and said, "Well, you're obviously not going to have very much fun driving with me on the back, so take off and I'll hang out for a few minutes."

Sara gave him a huge smile of appreciation. "I love you," she said as she gunned the engine and took off, leaving a wildly grinning Gil Grissom treading water. He watched her contentedly as she jumped waves, sending sprays of water every which way. Her beauty threatened to overwhelm him again. She didn't go far because she didn't want to lose sight of him, so he had ample opportunity to watch her. She had pulled her brown hair back into a messy—and incredibly sexy—knot at the nape of her neck, and she was wearing her Oakleys to keep the salt water out of her eyes. Her muscular arms protruded from the lifejacket, and he watched her arms and legs flex as she moved with the watercraft, balancing and counterbalancing with the wild ride. She was smiling—obviously having a great time. As Grissom took her in, he had the sudden realization that she looked happy—happy and healthy. _'When is the last time she looked this happy?'_ he asked himself. As he pondered the question, he came to the conclusion of a lifetime: She really _was_ in love with him. He was the reason for her happiness. "Hot damn," he muttered in amazement. "I make her happy."

Grissom was still floating with a dazed look on his face when Sara brought the WaveRunner back in. "What's wrong?" she asked curiously.

He looked up at her. "I was watching you out there, and you just looked so…happy."

She cocked her head to the side and gave him a small smile. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. And it just dawned on me that I..." he faltered. What if he was being egocentric? "That I make you happy," he finished. "I find that so hard to believe," he said helplessly.

A small, playful smile. "Well, believe it. I've never been happier. Hell, I've been chasing you for ten years, and I finally got you!" she teased. "Seriously, Gil, I meant what I said—I've never been happier. Now come on—it's getting close to dinner time."

----------

They made it back to the house, docked the WaveRunner, and proceeded to shower and change for dinner. When Sara came out of the bathroom with naught but a towel on her head and started rummaging in her suitcase, Grissom was more than a little distracted. As his hands began roaming her body, she swatted him away playfully and said, "Where are we going? I don't know what to wear."

He refrained from the suggestive comment about how all he wanted to eat was standing in front of him, instead settling on, "I don't know where we're going yet. Just wear a nice sundress. That should cover pretty much all the bases, don't you think?" Slapping her lightly on the ass, he finished shrugging into the button-down shirt he was going to wear for dinner. As he sat on the bed to pull on his shoes, he said, "I checked tomorrow's weather while you were in the shower, and it's supposed to be cloudy tomorrow. Since it won't be a great day for beach stuff, do you want to go shopping?"

Sara stopped dead and slowly turned to him; the look on her face was a strange combination of shock, bemusement, and wariness. "You…as a _man_…are suggesting to me…as a _woman_…that we go shopping?" He chuckled at her obvious confusion.

"Yes. You have forgotten, perhaps, about our conversation back in Vegas? I told you that when we got here we'd go shopping."

"I didn't really think you were all that serious."

"Well, I am. Sara, please let me do this. I want to spoil you like you deserve to be spoiled. I'm 48 and I've never had anyone to dote on—no daughter, son, niece, nephew, godchild, _no one._ Well, ok, there's Lindsey, but Catherine won't let anyone spoil her—says she doesn't want her to turn out to be a brat. Anyway, Sara, please…let me take you shopping tomorrow. It'll be fun, I promise."

Sara looked into those puppy-dog-looking blue eyes and burst out laughing at his expression. He looked like a lost little boy. She held up her hands in defeat. "Ok, ok! I surrender!" she said good-naturedly.

Grissom leaned in and kissed her cheek. "I can't wait."

----------

They went to dinner at Harry T's at the Destin Yacht Club. While they were waiting to be seated, Sara perused the merchandise and made Grissom's night when she asked if he would buy her a world-famous Harry T's t-shirt. He beamed at her and said "I'd love to." She chose a long-sleeved white shirt and as Grissom paid for it, he couldn't stop grinning at how fantastic it felt to be buying something for his…girlfriend.

Sara clutched the bag with her shirt and smiled shyly at him. "Thanks again," she said quietly. "I really like the shirt." He pulled her close and kissed the top of her head.

"Anytime, Honey," he said, sending a shiver down her spine.

Their dinner overlooking the harbor turned out to be wonderful. Sara ordered a "Big Top," which their server assured them was one of Harry T's specialties. "Four kinds of rum and some juice. Very tropical," he promised. "And the best part is, you get to keep the glass. It's a big Harry T's hurricane glass, you know?"

Sara's eyes lit up at the idea of a souvenir, and she eagerly awaited her drink. Grissom couldn't hide his amusement at this.

"What's so funny?" Sara asked.

"It was just cute that you wanted to keep the glass."

"I like souvenirs. I always kept souvenirs of stuff in college," she said, a little defensively. "I've—this, um, well…" She sighed, exasperated at her inability to form a coherent thought. "I've waited for this a long time, Grissom. There's still a tiny part of me that's afraid you're going to cut and run at any moment, so I want to have things to remember this by." She paused, hoping she hadn't hurt him. "I know that's stupid…" she trailed off.

She dared to glance up at him, afraid her words had cut too deeply. To her surprise, he was looking at her with solemn understanding. "Sara, I understand. I really do, and I don't blame you for not trusting me. But I promise you I'm not going to cut and run. Not this time." He stopped for a moment, a small smile playing around his lips. "Hell, if I thought you'd say yes, I'd ask you to move in with me right now," he said wryly.

Sara's heart stopped.

"Wh—What makes you think I wouldn't say yes?" she whispered.

He had been looking at his hands, but at her words, his head jerked up with whiplash-inducing ferocity. His eyes held a look of sheer joy, apprehension, and confusion all rolled into one. "Umm…I don't know. Would you be likely to say yes?" he whispered hoarsely, afraid to hear the answer.

She could not believe they were having this conversation. She was fairly certain that if someone had wandered by their table with a feather, they could have just knocked her on over with it. She took a deep breath and chose her words carefully. "Grissom…" she said in a low, throaty voice, "you already know what my answer would be. But…I don't know if _you _are ready. Your privacy…" she trailed off.

"Fuck privacy."

Sara's eyes snapped up. There had been a hard edge to his tone, one she hadn't seen coming. "Excuse me?"

A weary look. "Sara, I'm so tired of always being so closed up and private. I finally figured it all out and let you in. I can't back away now. It's all or nothing. There _is_ no privacy now." He paused and took several gulps of the beer sitting in front of him. He steeled his nerves and plunged ahead. "Sara…when we get back to Las Vegas…" He lifted his head and looked her straight in the eyes. "Will you move in with me?"

Sara felt a faint buzz in her ears as the world went a little dark for a split second. Holy shit, she had almost passed out at his question. She took several deep breaths to steady herself and looked him in the eyes. "Gil, I want you to think this through for a few minutes. Are you absolutely sure you know what you're asking?"

He shook his head vehemently. "I don't need to think, Sara. I need to be with you. I know this is unbelievably fast, and if that's the problem, I understand if you say no. You can consider it an open-ended invitation. But I don't want you to say no because you think I'm not ready. I can promise you this: if I knew how liberating it felt to give in to my feelings and fall in love, I would have done this years ago. I'm not going anywhere, and I just want you to know that. If you're ready, I would love for you to live with me." Inexplicably, he began quoting Marlowe to her.

"_Come live with me and be my Love_

_And we will all the pleasures prove_

_That hills and valleys, dale and field,_

_And all the craggy mountains yield…"_

He stopped, gauging her reaction.

"Cite your source," she whispered.

"Christopher Marlowe. "The Passionate Shepherd to His Love."

"Is there more to the poem?" He nodded. "Go on," she whispered.

"_There we will sit upon the rocks_

_And see the shepherds feed their flocks,_

_By shallow rivers, to whose falls_

_Melodious birds sing madrig—"_

"Yes," she interrupted.

"What?" he asked.

"Yes, Gil. I'll move in with you."

He stared at her, expressionless, trying to wrap his brain around what had just transpired. In the course of only two or three minutes, he had asked Sara Sidle to move in with him and she had accepted.

After a moment, he broke into a smile and reached across for her hands. "You've just made me a very happy man," he murmured.

Sara laughed and sniffled at the tears that were threatening. "I can't believe you just asked me to move in with you," she said.

"Neither can I, but I'm sure as hell glad I did," he said honestly.

Their server chose that exact moment to show up with their food—Harborwalk Pasta for Sara and Grouper for Grissom. Sara reached down and grabbed her phone and camera out of her purse and eagerly asked their server if he would take a couple of pictures of them. He agreed and took a picture with both the phone and the camera. When he was done, Grissom turned to her with a raised eyebrow and an amused look. Sara giggled and explained. "I had to take one with the phone to send to the boys. The camera was for my personal collection." She grinned at him and lowered her voice to a whisper. "I've never been in love before, Griss. I want to treasure every moment of this. Besides," she said with a lilt to her voice, "now I'll always have a record of what I looked like immediately after you asked me to move in with you!"


	26. More questions, quid pro quo, and an epi...

**Dedication: To SMKLegacy, who wants to ride the WaveRunner. My answer to you? I might as well give it to you, because you'll probably get more use out of it than I have lately! This last summer, Mark (the husband) and I did not take it out at all here in Tennessee. The only thing we did with it was take it to Destin, and even then, if I wanted to ride my own WaveRunner, I had to wrestle my sister to the ground to get the key away from her. sigh**

**A/N: Quite a few of you were shocked at the speed with which Grissom asked Sara to shack up in the last chapter. My response to you: good! I know it was really fast, but I wanted you guys to be as surprised as Sara was. Grissom's an all-or-nothing kind of guy, and now that he's figured out what to do about "this," he's going to move full steam ahead!**

Grissom and Sara went straight back home after dinner and fell into bed. It had been an exhausting day, both physically and emotionally, not to mention the fact that their sleep schedule had been thrown into chaos.

As Sara lay cradled in Grissom's arms in the dark, she felt him open and close his mouth several times, like he wanted to say something but kept changing his mind. She had a feeling she knew what was on his mind.

With a small smile on her face, she said, "You still have lots of questions for me, huh?"

She felt him smile. "Yeah. But I don't want you to think I'm dwelling on it. I'm just curious about the little things that most people wouldn't find important, but—"

She interrupted. "But you're an investigator, and it's the little things that make the difference."

"Yeah."

"Ok, shoot. What do you want to know?"

"You mentioned the Harvard professor taking you to stay with him and his wife. Where were your parents during all this?"

If Grissom had been able to see Sara's face in the darkness, he would have seen the darkest of clouds pass over Sara's eyes. As it was, he felt her body stiffen, and he cursed himself for bringing up something that was more than likely another bad memory for her. He spoke quickly, "Um, sorry, Sara. You don't have to answer that."

"No, I want to, but I think I would prefer to wait awhile, if that's okay with you." She turned her face up toward his and kissed his beard. "I've already addressed one traumatic event, and I think I need some time before I dredge up more bad memories. Let's just say that I don't exactly have a good relationship with my parents and leave it at that for the moment. Is that okay?"

Grissom sagged against the pillow with relief. He was so grateful that she felt comfortable enough to be honest. He realized he hadn't answered her question and added a hurried, "Of course that's okay, Hon. Whenever you're ready."

She smiled against his beard. "Thank you. Next question?"

"OK, how did you manage to graduate on time? I would imagine you had to take the rest of that semester off because of the extent of your injuries."

"No, Dr. Durham helped. I was originally taking 18 hours, but I dropped down to 12 so I could stay full-time. I only actually missed three weeks of lectures, but there was a ton of catching up to do, obviously. Dr. Durham was the head of the math department, and six of my 12 hours were math classes, so he had those professors tape all their lectures for me. He got in touch with my other professors and asked them if they would mind doing the same, and he offered to proctor exams, as well. So he'd help me with my notes, answer any questions I had on the math stuff, and then he'd bring me my exams and act as proctor while I sat in bed taking them. After about three weeks, I was well enough to go back to my dorm room with Ashley, but either Dr. Durham or his wife would stop by every single day to check on me, and bring food." She giggled. "They became really popular on my floor. When Mrs. Durham would bring me her special "study cookies," girls would flock to my door and beg for some." Her voice softened at the memory. "They became surrogate parents to me. I still go see them at least once a year."

Grissom's heart softened at the thought of a kindly professor taking in Sara and caring for her while she recuperated.

"How did he know you were a Harvard student when he found you?"

Sara snorted. Leave it to Grissom to ask a question like that. "Have you ever seen the little ID holder key chains that college girls carry?" She felt him shake his head 'no.' "Umm…" Sara struggled to explain. "Well, most college girls don't like to carry purses everywhere—you know, parties, games, classes, and so forth. It's a hassle. So college bookstores carry these small ID wallets that go on your key chain. It's big enough to hold your campus ID, driver license, and a little money—just the bare necessities. Mine was laying on the ground next to me when Dr. Durham found me. It had the Harvard crest on one side, and my Harvard ID was in it."

Grissom nodded in understanding.

"May I ask you a slightly more personal question?"

"Um…ok."

"How long was it before you were able to…" He had no idea how to ask the question. Thankfully, he didn't have to.

"How long before I slept with someone?"

"Yeah, that." He added quickly, "You don't have to answer that. I was just curious."

"No, no, it's okay." She took a deep breath. "It was about six months. I tried to keep the rape as quiet as I could, which wasn't easy, since everyone on my entire floor knew about it. But eventually talk began to fade and life went back to being normal. When the next semester started, I had all new classes, and I looked pretty normal except for the slight limp, so things really started to settle down. I took differential equations with Dr. Durham, and he randomly partners people off as study buddies. I ended up with a guy named Michael Murphy.

Michael and I hit it off immediately; he was the nicest guy I'd ever met. He was attentive and sweet, courteous, charming, and smart. One day he asked me point-blank about the limp. For some reason, he caught me off guard, and I just spilled my guts about it. I even told him about Dr. Durham being the one to find me. When I said that, his eyes got huge, and he whispered, 'No wonder…' I asked him what he meant by that, and he got really shy and finally admitted that Dr. Durham was his uncle. He said that we had been paired together on purpose—that Dr. Durham asked him to keep an eye on me and make sure I was doing okay emotionally. He didn't tell Michael why, so obviously he was curious. At any rate, we started dating, and he was so gentle and patient." Sara smiled at the memory. "He didn't push me for a physical relationship at all. He waited until I was ready. So one night in mid-March, I told him that I was." She stopped. "Am I making you uncomfortable?"

Grissom considered. "Um, no. I mean, I don't really like to think about it, but this guy sounds like he was good to you. Yeah, I'm okay. Go on."

"Anyway, he was really gentle about the whole thing—kept telling me that I could stop at any time if I got uncomfortable." Tears were threatening her eyes again. "If it weren't for him, I don't know how long it would have been before I would have had sex with someone."

Grissom asked in a whisper, "So why didn't you stay together?"

Sara squeezed her eyes shut against the tears of sadness that were gathering. "We stayed together for about a year. God, it killed me to break up with him, but I wasn't in love with him. He loved me so much, and I tried to make myself love him, but I couldn't. And the worst part is, I cried like a baby when I was breaking up with him, and he spent the whole time comforting _me_! I hated that I couldn't make myself love him. He was truly one of the nicest guys I've ever known, and he would have been good for any girl, but he was especially good for me." Her voice dropped to a ragged whisper. "Because of him, I stopped automatically equating sex with rape and pain." She cried against Grissom for a moment, during which he silently thanked God that Michael had been in Sara's life.

He kissed the top of her head for at least the twentieth time that day (God, he loved the feel of her hair beneath his lips), and bravely asked, "May I bug you with one more really frivolous question?"

She snickered through her tears. "Yes."

"Back to my original question—how many men before me? I don't know why—I just want to know. I'm sorry if that's stupid."

"I understand. But quid pro quo, Dr. Grissom. I give you my skeletons, you give me yours."

"Understood."

"Well…" she paused. "I never know whether to include _him_ in the total. If you include him, then there were six men before you. If you leave him out, since I didn't willingly have sex with him, then there were five men before you." A pause. "Quid pro quo," she reminded.

"Five. Pretty sad, huh? In 27 years, I've had sex with five women—until you." He squeezed her. "I don't get out much, obviously." Sara giggled against him.

After a moment, she lifted her head off of his chest to ask him a question. "Are you still sure…about me moving in?"

He smiled and let his eyes drift closed contentedly. "Every moment I spend with you only makes me even more sure about it, Sara."

She snuggled down into him happily. They were almost asleep when Sara's cell phone rang from the bedside table. She jerked up and snapped on the lamp, alarmed that it might be Ecklie. As she grabbed the phone, her worried eyes caught Grissom's. A sigh escaped her lips as she checked the caller ID. "Nicky," she whispered. She flipped it open and greeted him, turning the volume up as she did so. She wanted Grissom to be able to listen in to whatever ribbing she was about to take. "Nicky!" she squealed into the phone.

"Hey, Sar," he drawled. "Am I interrupting anything?"

Sara winked at Grissom. "Yeah, your timing is fantastic, Nick," she quipped. "Grissom and I were in the midst of some seriously mind-blowing sex." She covered her mouth to stifle her laughter as Nick's voice came through the phone.

"Sa-ra!" he whined like a child. "That's disgusting, Baby Sister. Tell that old codger to keep his paws to himself."

At that, Grissom grabbed the phone away from Sara, causing her mouth to drop open in disbelief.

"Old codger, Nick?"

Nick was totally unfazed. "Boss!" he replied happily. Teasingly, he asked, "And what exactly do you think you're doing with my baby sister?"

"You really do take this whole big brother act way too far, you know that, Nicky?"

"Seriously, though, Grissom, you better make her happy. You know I love you like a brother, but if you hurt her—"

Grissom chuckled. "Relax, Nick. If you must know…" he searched out Sara's eyes, looking for permission for what he was going to say next. She gave him a barely perceptible nod. "I asked Sara to move in with me at dinner this evening, and she accepted, so maybe that will make you feel a little better about my intentions."

Grissom could practically hear Nick's jaw hit the floor. "Are you serious?"

"As a heart attack."

"Wow, Grissom. Damn, you've got it bad, don't you?"

"Extremely," Grissom agree, giving Sara yet another kiss atop her head.

"So does this mean I get to tell Warrick and Catherine?" Nick sounded giddy at the prospect. "Catherine's gonna freak that I have this juicy tidbit of information before she does."

"Sure thing, Nick. Just remember—keep it quiet, ok?"

"Absolutely."

Grissom smiled and said, "Well, I suppose you called to talk to your baby sister, not to me, so I'll give you back to her."

"Thanks, Grissom. And hey, congratulations. I really was kidding about the old codger stuff. Sara's crazy for you, and I wouldn't have it any other way."

Sara took the phone from Grissom and proceeded to chat with Nick for the next ten minutes. After getting updates on all things criminal in Las Vegas, she hung up and snuggled back into Grissom's arms.

As Grissom drifted off to sleep, he tightened his arms around the woman next to him and had a sudden epiphany: _'My God. I'm going to marry her.'_


	27. Meanwhile, back at the lab

**Dedication: Almeida's-Angel24, who loves Harry T's and still has her Harry T's t-shirt (along with everyone else in the entire Southeastern United States…it's like required attire). First person to email me with the story of their life gets to be the dedication in the next chapter.**

**A/N: A New Zealand reader informed me that Michael Murphy is the name of the New Zealand Idol winner. Sorry—unintentional. Every single name of every single person in this story (from the ballet dancers in Sara's flashback to the other rape victims) is someone from my life—and Michael Murphy just happens to be the name of a friend of mine. This guy is a friend from the cradle. I had lunch with him and his brother last Sunday, so I thought I'd toss his name in the story somewhere. On another note, I've never been there, but New Zealand rocks. Everybody who now wants to visit New Zealand because of Lord of the Rings, raise your hands. That's what I thought.**

**Meanwhile, back at the lab…again…**

Nick snapped his phone shut with a self-satisfied grin. This was gonna be good. He had stepped into the break room for a coffee refill and decided to call Sara. Now he got to see the look on Catherine's face when he dropped the big bombshell.

He found the rest ofthe team in the layout room. Catherine, Warrick, and Greg were bent over a huge pile of shredded paper. It was going to be a long night.

"Hey, guys," Nick said. The team looked up and saw Nick standing in the doorway, shit-eating grin in place.

Catherine raised an eyebrow. "Got something you want to share, Nick?"

He sauntered in and surreptitiously glanced around, making sure they were alone. "As a matter of fact, Catherine, I do."

"Give."

"I just got off the phone with Sara." Nick was going to drag this out.

Catherine looked annoyed. "And?"

"And it turns out that Grissom did something quite interesting at dinner tonight."

Greg, Catherine, and Warrick looked at each other with raised eyebrows. Finally, Warrick spoke. "Ok, I'm not sure I want to know, but I'll bite. What did he do?"

Nick's grin grew even larger. "He asked her to move in with him. She said yes."

"WHAT?!" Catherine screeched. Warrick clamped a large hand over her mouth, reminding her to shut-the-hell-up-before-we-get-them-fired.

"_What?"_ Catherine tried again.

"Yup. They're shackin' up together, y'all. Hell has indeed frozen over, and I believe I saw a little piggy flying up in the sky on my way in tonight."

Catherine's mouth was hanging open in stunned disbelief, and Nick took the opportunity to return the favor by whipping out his phone and snapping a picture. She recovered enough to try to grab the phone from him, but Nick was faster.

Warrick was still stuck back on Nick's announcement. "Wait. Hold up, dude. You mean Grissom—as in 'What are you doing at my house, my precious inner sanctum' Grissom—asked Sara to invade his personal space and move in with him?" He looked at Nick like he'd just grown a third eyeball.

"Yep. He's got it bad, y'all. _He's_ the one who told me!"

"GRISSOM told you this? Not Sara?" Nick was starting to think Catherine might have a nervous breakdown.

Nick nodded, and Warrick started laughing. "This is unbelievable, man. What's happened to him?"

Greg piped up for the first time. "Sara happened to him, dude. Have you _looked_ at her, man? She's hot! If I could get her to sleep with me, I'd ask her to move in, too!"

"Shut up, Greg!" three people yelled in unison.

Warrick had one final thought on the situation. "Ecklie's gonna shit a brick when he hears about this."

Nick answered, "Well, we'll have to make sure that doesn't happen."


	28. Shopping, Dropping, and Dancing

**Dedication: To shedigzarockstar, who was the first to email me with her life story. And a very cool life story it was, too. So here's to you, Courtney!**

Grissom and Sara were prodded awake the next morning by the chirping of Sara's cell phone alerting her to a new text message. She peeled one eye open as she grabbed for it and smiled when she flipped it open. She poked her bedmate in the ribs. "Griss," she said with a voice raspy from sleep. "Nick sent a picture—wanna look at it with me?"

He rolled over and forced his eyes open against the morning sun. When his vision had cleared itself, he leaned in to look at the cell phone. They read the accompanying message before looking at the picture.

_Hey, Little Sis and Old Codger,_

_Breaking the news to the gang was fun! If you think I looked like a fool when Catherine told us you were on vacation together, you should see the look on her face when I told her you were moving in together._

_Have fun and be safe!_

_Love,_

_Nick_

When Sara opened the attached picture, she and Grissom both burst out laughing. Catherine's stunned face was hilarious—her eyebrows looked like they were about to rise right off her face, her eyes were huge, and her mouth formed a perfect "O." She was the picture of shock. Sara lay against Grissom's chest, giggling like a ten year-old when she suddenly jumped up, hands covering her mouth.

"What?" Grissom asked lazily.

"Morning breath," she said from behind her hands.

Grissom rolled his eyes. "Yeah, welcome to the club. So go brush your teeth if you're that worried about it." Sara did just that, calling to him from the bathroom as she brushed her teeth, "Sho, ah we gohnna go shoppig dis mohnnig?"

"You bet," Grissom answered as he rolled around on the bed, stretching.

----------

Their shopping expedition turned out to be more fun than either of them had imagined. They decided to start farther down the strip, at the Silver Sands Outlet Center, then work their way back to Destin Commons before heading home.

Once she got over her reluctance to let Grissom spoil her, Sara proved to be an enthusiastic participant, although she had to be careful to stop Grissom from buying every single thing she even so much as glanced at. "Grissom!" she giggled after she slapped his hand away from a picture frame she had picked up. "I'm just looking!"

"Do you want it?" he whined. They were standing in the Oneida home store, and Sara had spied a beautiful sterling silver picture frame. She could just picture it holding a photo of her and Grissom on the beach.

She cocked her head to the side, considering. "Hmm..." Her face broke out into a wide grin. "Yeah. I want it."

Grissom gave her a matching grin, snatched the frame away, and went to pay for it, leaving an eye-rolling Sara Sidle in his wake.

When Sara spotted the J. Crew outlet store, her eyes lit up, and Grissom seized upon the opportunity, grabbing her hand and dragging her toward it. Fifteen minutes later, she was standing in a dressing room with about 20 things in her hands. One by one, she came out and modeled each article of clothing for Grissom. Shorts, skirts, tops, even a couple of extremely sexy bikinis—she looked amazing in everything she tried on.

They went through the same routine at the Banana Republic outlet, the Gap outlet ("Hey, if Sharon Stone can wear a Gap t-shirt to the Oscars, I can wear a Gap t-shirt to work…"), and the Calvin Klein outlet, where she nearly drove Grissom to his knees by buying three completely sheer bras. She managed to blow him away by picking out quite a few things for him, as well. At Banana Republic, she dressed him in a tight black t-shirt and a pair of flat-front khakis. He was shocked at how good he looked. Sara looked him up and down with an approving eye. "Good—you can wear that when we go out tonight," she winked. She chose some nice work clothes for him at Eddie Bauer, and bought him a floppy beach hat at Fossil. After their third trip to deposit shopping bags at the car, Sara put her hands on her hips and declared that they'd done quite enough damage for one mall, thank-you-very-much.

They headed back toward the beach house, stopping at Destin Commons, an upscale open-air town center. Grissom made an obligatory stop into the Bass Pro Shops Outdoor World, looking for insect and fishing gear. While there, he purchased snorkels, masks, and fins for himself and Sara. Might as well snorkel while on the Emerald Coast, he reasoned.

He and Sara split up for a few minutes to check the place out, and while she was gone, he bought Sara a butterfly sculpture at The Zoo Gallery and arranged to have it shipped back to her apartment in Vegas. Then he stopped in at the J. Reid Britt silver company and selected a delicate silver chain and a navy blue crab charm to go with it. He wanted to spend a romantic day at Crab Island, as Charlie had suggested, and he wanted her to have something to remember it by. He had the chain and charm gift wrapped in a small box and slipped it into his pocket.

When they met up later, Sara was breathless with excitement. "There's so much cool stuff here!" she cried. Grissom couldn't help but grin like an idiot. He was enjoying this new, child-like side of Sara more than he thought possible.

At Maui Nix surf shop, Sara bought two more amazing bikinis, and she selected two brightly-printed pairs of swim trunks for Grissom. She bought a strap for her new Oakleys so she wouldn't "lose them on the damn WaveRunner." She then looked up at Grissom and asked if she could please buy something for Lindsey. His response was, "Screw that—buy something for the whole team. And don't forget Jim."

Half an hour later, she had selected two wild Hawaiian print shirts for Greg before proclaiming that she wanted to look elsewhere for the others' gifts.

She got Catherine and Lindsey a wild assortment of gifts at Zbuz, a funky little store with plenty of cool stuff for a girl Lindsey's age, and lots of bath products that Catherine would go nuts over.

Nick and Warrick were a little more difficult to shop for. They finally wandered into the Sharper Image, where the selection of cool "guy toys" was overwhelming. She moaned in frustration, then snorted and said, "For Warrick, we could just buy him some sexy lingerie and tell him to give it to Catherine. Think that'd be good enough for him?" Grissom snickered in response. "They're about as bad as we were," he commented. "I wonder when they'll finally give it up and just get together."

Deciding that lingerie would probably _not_ be the best route, they set to work finding something for Warrick and Nick. They split up to save time in scouring the store and after only two or three minutes, Grissom felt Sara grip his arm in excitement. "It's perfect!" she squealed, dragging him across the store. She came to a stop directly in front of a small display. Grissom read the words on the boxes. "Hoverglide Amphibian with Remote Control." Looking closely, he saw a red hovercraft on the box, and a description that read, "zips over land or water on a cushion of air."

"It's perfect, Griss!! We'll get one for each of them, and then maybe they'll let somebody else use the damn Playstation in the break room!"

Grissom laughed. "Yeah, but then we'll never get them in out of the parking lot. They'll be racing each other all the time."

"You know it's the perfect gift!"

"Yeah, you're right. I do." He pulled her close and kissed the top of her head. This was quickly becoming one of his favorite ways to show his affection.

As if reading his thoughts, Sara spoke up in a murmur. "I love it when you do that—kiss the top of my head like that."

"Mmm, good. I love doing it."

----------

They decided to spend more time and care in selecting Jim's gift, since they were both giving Jim the credit for finally pulling Grissom out of his shell where Sara was concerned. "I wish we could give him some Cubans," Grissom mused, "but I wouldn't even know where to buy them illegally here, and I wouldn't want to try to take them back on the plane with us." At his words about the plane, Sara gasped. "What?" he turned to her, concerned.

"Grissom…how on earth are we going to get all of this stuff back to Vegas?"

"We'll cram what we can in our suitcases and ship the rest," he said easily.

"That'll cost a fortune."

"Don't care."

----------

The rest of the day passed leisurely. They made a quick stop at a liquor store for the obligatory rum ("No trip to the beach is complete without it," Grissom noted), as well as some bourbon, tequila, mixers, and beer. Once back at the house, Grissom made them each a margarita and he and Sara changed into new swimsuits to hang out by the pool. The sun had come out, and Sara insisted on getting a few minutes of tanning time in.

Their time at the pool proved to be much more pleasant than the day before. Grissom was pleased that no vomit-inducing discussions took place today. After an hour, Sara proclaimed that her shoulders were getting burned, and they took the party inside. She sat on the bed while Grissom rubbed aloe after-sun lotion on her pink shoulders, and moaned with pleasure as his movements took on a decidedly more…amorous overtone. He hesitated as his thoughts wandered back to her revelations yesterday, and Sara picked up on it quickly.

"Grissom," she spoke quietly. "It happened fifteen years ago. Just because you only found out yesterday doesn't mean anything. We made love three times before you knew, remember?"

Her logical words comforted him, and he dipped his head to kiss her deeply. As he did, he couldn't help but notice that her natural beauty had only been enhanced by her exposure to the sun. He stopped before he got to her lips, and she looked at up at him in surprise. Before she could speak, he shushed her with a finger to her lips. "I'm just looking at you for a minute," he soothed.

He brushed his fingers over her face as he took her in. Her skin was bronzed and healthy. Her faint freckles were now becoming quite dark, which he found incredibly sexy. The glow of her face only made her dark eyes sparkle more. And her lips…oh, her lips. He gave up his visual expedition in favor of hungrily sucking on her lips. Any hesitations he had had previously fell away as he proceeded to make love to her.

----------

That night Grissom and Sara had an early dinner, then proceeded to "play" along the strip, first hitting a mini-golf course (where Grissom beat her soundly), then tackling a go-cart track (Grissom swore he was never letting Sara drive his car after her resounding—and terrifying—victory over everyone on the track). As they were leaving, Grissom spied something that looked most interesting. Grabbing Sara's hand, he said, "Come on!"

"What?"

"SkyFlyer! You up to it?"

Sara looked straight up. At first she looked a little nervous, then her demeanor changed, and she got an evil glint in her eye as she said, "Hell, yeah."

Grissom felt the adrenaline course through his veins as he looked up at the huge arch overhead. "Look, they're about to go." Three teenagers were strapped together on the end of one cable as another cable pulled them back and lifted them high into the air—about 100 feet, Grissom estimated. When they reached the apex of their climb, they hung there, suspended in limbo, for a few seconds. Then a voice came over the loudspeaker.

"THREE, TWO, ONE…GO!!!"

The cable that had lifted them into the air was released by one of the riders and the three teenagers went soaring downward at an insane angle, screaming wildly every second of the way. Automated cameras took pictures of them on their descent. The crowd beneath cheered wildly as the three kids swung back and forth on a path that looked like a giant parabola. After a couple of minutes, they were gently guided to the ground.

Sara breathed out. "That looks awesome," she said.

Half an hour later, Grissom and Sara were on deck, so to speak. As the couple ahead of them was being pulled up for their ride, Grissom and Sara were getting suited up. An employee helped them into the huge two-person harness that would be their sole protection from the hard ground below. Ever the physicist, Sara carefully inspected the carabiners on the back of the harness for any signs of defect. In response to Grissom's amused smile, she said, "Hey, these 'biners are the only things that are going to be attaching us to that cable. I'm just making sure."

He grinned and said, "Nervous?"

Sara started to give an automatic "no," but changed her mind and decided to go the honesty route. "Well, yeah, but I'm also excited. I love this kind of thing, but still…I'm only human," she shrugged helplessly.

"It's okay." He tried to give her a little hug, but the harness was in the way. He was glad she had been honest.

Five minutes later, they moved to the middle of the staging area and an assistant snapped the cables to the Sidle-approved carabiners. "Who wants the release?" he asked. Sara snorted and just looked at Grissom. As if it even needed to be discussed. Grissom indicated that he wanted the release. "Just pull here when the announcer says 'go.' Good luck!" the assistant shouted as Grissom and Sara were hoisted into the air.

In order to avoid thinking about the fact that the ground was getting farther and farther away, Sara concentrated on the breathtaking view as they ascended. "It's beautiful," she breathed. Then, "Uh, we're really high up." She hated to admit it, but she was freaked. She knew she'd be over it once the drop and swinging part started, but for now…she was freaked.

Grissom understood her apprehension and gently took her hand. "I won't pull the release until you're ready, ok?"

She gave him a look of pure love.

They were at the top now. The announcer came over the speakers. "THREE, TWO, ONE…GO!" Sara nodded at Grissom and he pulled the release with his free hand.

Suddenly, they were falling, holding hands, their free hands outstretched. Sara's stomach was somewhere up in her head, and she didn't care. She and Grissom were both screaming in pure joy at the liberating freedom they felt. They reached the bottom of the arc and swung forward. As they reached the top, in that split second of total stillness before they began to fall backward again, Grissom squeezed her hand and their eyes locked. Simultaneously, "I love you." Then the wild descent, with two deliriously happy lovers grinning and laughing the whole way.

When the ride was over, Grissom and Sara couldn't stop laughing. Sara had tears streaming down her face and was struggling valiantly to breathe. "That…was so…fun!" she finally managed. They stopped by the counter on the way out to look at their picture. Grissom snorted when he saw it. His mouth was wide open in delight, and Sara looked like she was caught somewhere between petrified and delighted.

He cast a sideways glance at Sara and asked with a grin if she wanted the picture.

"Are you high? Of course I want it! I'm moving in with you, Buddy, and you can bet that your townhouse is going to be covered in pictures of you and me before it's over with!" She stopped. "Or am I overstepping my bounds?" she asked carefully.

He pulled her close. "Absolutely not. It's your home, too, now."

----------

After the SkyFlyer, Grissom and Sara went back to the house to change into "going out clothes," as Sara called them, and headed over to AJ's. Sara wanted to party like she did in college for at least one night of this vacation and Grissom was going to damn well do everything in his power to see that she got what she wanted. He looked at himself in the mirror, dressed in his Banana Republic shirt and chinos, with new black loafers on. He looked good, and he thanked God he had been working out, because the shirt was prettytight. As he was slipping his Gucci watch on, Sara stepped out of the bathroom and Grissom's jaw dropped.

"Damn, Sara," he murmured. She was wearing a soft brown gauzy halter-style top with an extremely short denim skirt. The brown color looked outstanding against her tanned skin, and the skirt set off her sexy legs to perfection. She had on a pair of open-toed sandals with small chunky heels. A silver bracelet on one wrist, a delicate silver ring on the middle finger of her right hand, and a small pair of silver hoop earrings finished the ensemble. She had pulled her hair back into a loose ponytail at the nape of her neck, but had left a few tendrils loose around her face.

Grissom was dumbfounded as he looked at her. She was stunning. For her part, she was rather enthralled with what she saw, as well. She walked to him and ran her fingers lightly down his chest. "Damn, Griss, you look _hot."_ She turned them toward the full-length mirror so they could see themselves together. Sara grasped his face and turned it toward the mirror. She looked at the couple in the mirror, and spoke. "See, Gil? We look pretty damn good, if I do say so myself. So every time you start to get insecure about what it is that I see in you, I want you to remember the couple you see in the mirror. They look perfect together."

And as he looked in the mirror, he started to believe her words. Maybe age really was just a number. The two people he was looking at in the mirror looked perfectly happy together. And damn, she was hot.

He jerked himself from his reverie as Sara started digging in her suitcase. "Aha!" she said triumphantly, as she came up with a small tripod. She motioned him to follow her. She walked out onto the deck and set the tripod up with her camera atop it, then posed him. Hitting the automatic timer, she took her place beside him, and they smiled as the camera flashed.

----------

AJ's was insanely crowded, but neither Grissom nor Sara really cared. As soon as they entered, they made a beeline for the bar and ordered Bushwackers, as Charlie had recommended.

Drinks in hand, they headed for the dance floor. Between the alcohol and the leftover adrenaline rush from the SkyFlyer, Sara didn't need much encouragement to get wild. Grissom was soon thanking God for his limited dance experience as Sara dragged him through dance after dance. He was able to keep up with her just fine, and he was relieved that there were people of all ages in the club. The majority were twentysomething types, but there appeared to be plenty of people in their thirties and forties, which gave him some comfort.

By the time the evening was over, both Grissom and Sara were thoroughly trashed. Grissom couldn't remember the last time he was this drunk, and he didn't care. All he wanted to do was get his gorgeous date back home and do extremely naughty things to her. He knew it was time to go when he began strongly considering sex in a public place—like the middle of the dance floor. He whispered some extremely suggestive things in Sara's ear and in no time, she was equally ready to go. They headed back down to the bar, where he asked the bartender to call them a cab, and they helped themselves to another bushwacker while they waited.

Half an hour later, Grissom and Sara were taking a midnight swim in the pool and Grissom was testing Sara's assertion that sex in the water wasn't all it was cracked up to be. He quickly agreed and pulled her out of the water and onto a lounge chair, where he proceeded to have his way with her. Sara giggled through her alcohol-induced haze and said, "Griss, I know it's dark out here, but you're aware that it's not out of the realm of possibility that someone could see us, right?"

He grunted and said, "Alcohol lowers inhibitions."

A giggle. "I'll say. Who are you and what have you done with Gil Grissom?"

When they were both sated, they dragged themselves upstairs and into bed. Grissom had the good sense to make them both drink a bottle of water to ward off dehydration and thus a hangover.

As they lay in bed, Sara murmured, "Griss?"

"Yes, Sara?"

"Thank you for this. I needed it."

"I know. Me, too."

There was so much more to say, but he couldn't find the words and so left it at that. As he held her in his arms and drifted off to sleep for the fourth night in a row, he thought, _'I am the luckiest man in the world.'_

**A/N: You know the necklace with the little navy blue crab that Grissom bought Sara? Yeah, it's mine. I actually did buy said necklace in Destin this year as a memento of Crab Island—because I'm THAT much of a freak about Crab Island. Does this make me a totally pathetic whacko? It's really cute, though, and people ask me about it all the time. I think I'm a little Destin-crazy or something.**

**Another note: I found out yesterday that I won't even have an actual classroom when I teach next semester. I get to be the "floaty" teacher that goes from room to room. How much does that suck, people?**


	29. Crab Island

**Dedication: For ScullyasTrinity again. Barenaked Ladies reference below is all for you, Girl, because you are without a doubt, the biggest BNL fan on this planet. By the way, I love "Stunt!"**

Thenext few dayspassed far too quickly for Grissom and Sara. They swam in the pool, went snorkeling in the bay, went to the beach and built a sand castle, tried their hand at boogieboarding on the Gulf coast waves, and had their romantic day at Crab Island, which Sara loved.

Grissom stocked the cooler on the boat with beer, bottled water, soft drinks, and the bottle of Dom Perignon that they had been too distracted to consume at the Venetian. He packed another cooler full of food so that they could stay out all day. They motored out to the center of the bay and threw out the anchor in a whopping two feet of water. It was a perfect day on the Emerald Coast, and Crab Island was crowded, but not packed. The party barge was set up a couple of hundred yards away, lest anyone run low on supplies. Grissom and Sara swam, splashed, evaded the jellyfish that seemed to be out in particularly large numbers that day, and lay in the sun listening to Jimmy Buffett on the CD player. Sara took an excessive amount of pictures, and Grissom smiled without complaint. They discussed their living arrangements, and who was getting rid of what furniture.

Late in the afternoon, as the sun was getting low in the sky, Sara lay on her belly on the bow of the boat. She was inspecting her cuticles when she nonchalantly asked a most unexpected question.

"You remember the other night at Curve, when I told you about how I dreamed of what our children would look like?" At this, Grissom nodded. "Well, you brought the subject up as to demonstrate your concerns about our age difference, and you asked me if it was my desire to have children, but you never indicated whether or not you ever planned on being a parent. So I want to ask you the same question: Is it your desire to be a father?"

Grissom reached over, opened the cooler, pulled out another Corona, and slipped a wedge of lime through the neck of the bottle before he answered. Leaning back in his chair, he looked down at her and sighed. "Sara…I've often thought of parenthood in my adult life, but more often than not, I've been overwhelmed by the thought of what a horrible parent I would probably be. I mean, look at me. I'm emotionally stunted, closed off, and completely antisocial. On top of that, of all the women I've ever dated, there's never been one that I would have even remotely considered as a candidate for marriage and children. There have been a couple of women that have intrigued me in an amazing way—" Sara closed her eyes against the thinly-veiled reference to Lady Heather "—but none that struck me as the long-term type." Sara's heart sank. "So about the time I hit 38, I just gave up. I figured it wasn't in the cards for me. Mankind would be better served if Gil Grissom never became a father, and it fit right in with my closed off mentality, so I just accepted it." He looked at Sara's dejected face. "Then I met you."

Sara's head snapped up.

"You took my breath away from the first moment I saw you at Berkeley. I'll never forget it." His eyes grew hazy. "I was standing in the front of the lecture hall, preparing my notes, and you came walking in and plopped down in the front row. You were the first student in the lecture hall that day, and there you were, front and center. When I looked up at you, you flashed me that brilliant smile of yours and I admit it, I was enchanted. It was on a purely physical level, though. Then class started and you blew me away with your intellect. You were attentive, interested, and your thirst for knowledge was insatiable. You asked all the right questions, and you weren't afraid to challenge me. By the end of the first day, I was essentially teaching as though it was only you and me in the room. I was transfixed by everything about you—your beauty, your brilliance, your grace. My ten-year struggle was born that day. After class, all I could think about was seeing you again, and then we became friends. For the first couple of weeks, I was able to keep my feelings at bay. But then as our friendship became deeper and we began spending more time together, I would find myself getting…distracted when we were together. I would stare at your lips while you were talking, daydreaming about what they would feel like on mine. I don't know if you remember this, but one time we were out walking and it started pouring. The first thing I noticed was the way your wet hair clung to your face, and I couldn't help wondering what you looked like in the shower…then I looked down and realized you were wearing a white tank top. God, I had to get out of there in a hurry."

Sara smiled. "I do remember that. When I saw you glance down at my shirt, it was the first time I allowed myself to hope that the feeling might be mutual."

Grissom continued, "Then one day, I had this…this epiphany," he shrugged. "I don't know if that word is accurate or not. All I know is that it was about halfway through the seminar, and we were at the Fourth of July celebration at the marina. It was dark, and the fireworks had just started, so we sat down in the grass to watch. I remember looking at the spectacular view—the San Francisco skyline and bridges were in the background, and the fireworks were lighting everything up over the water. Then I looked over at you, and you were sitting there, transfixed. The fireworks were lighting up your face and I remember thinking in that moment that although the view over the water was spectacular, it was nothing compared to the view right next to me. That was when I knew."

Sara was watching him, enthralled. "Knew what?" she whispered, so quietly he barely heard her.

"That you were the most terrifying woman I had ever met."

Her eyes grew large in response to his statement, but he continued without noticing. He was still back in 1994.

"It sounds ridiculous—a 38 year-old man being terrified of a 23 year-old woman, but I was. I tried to deny it to myself, but for the first time in my life, someone else was able to wield power over me. You held my heart in your delicate little hands, and you didn't even know it." He shrugged. "I think that's when I started running from you. But soon, when I would let my guard down, I would start dreaming of a life with you—a happy, content life with beautiful little children. And that scared me for several reasons. First, I thought that at 23, you deserved better than a life with a guy who was pushing 40. Then there were the ethical ramifications. My later supervisor-employee reasoning was iffy, but there's no mistaking that at _that_ point—during that summer—there would have been serious ethical consequences to getting involved with you, since you were a student. And the last reason was that I was just a coward—flat-out. I had a routine in place, I had made up my mind that it was my lot in life to be alone, and suddenly changing that would have just been too much."

He downed the rest of his Corona before he continued.

"But although we went our separate ways at the end of the summer, I couldn't bring myself to cut off all contact with you. Above all, you really were a dear friend. But in my quietest moments, when I allowed my mind to wander to thoughts of the children I was sure I would never have, there was always one constant picture in my mind—you. I always saw you smiling at me, one hand covering your pregnant belly as you carried my child.

"And then one day, a couple of months before I asked you to come to Las Vegas, I walked into Greg's lab to get some results from him. He wasn't there, but he had left a CD playing. The song seemed a little tame compared to what Greg usually listens to, and I was immediately captivated by it. It was called "When You Dream" by the Barenaked Ladies, and it was about a father looking down at his newborn son as he sleeps. The father is wondering what his son dreams about." Grissom paused, deciding how to continue. He shrugged, finding it difficult to put his thoughts into words. "The song, I don't know, it just wrapped itself around my heart, and I just stood there listening to it like a statue. By the time it was over, I had to practically run to make it back to my office before the tears started. I realized that the things in that song were totally out of my reach, and for the first time in my life, I understood regret.

"And then I had the opportunity to bring you back into my life. I thought that I might finally be able to take the risk, but then something happened that put all that on hold."

He grabbed another Corona and another lime, and knocked back half of the bottle before he continued.

"It started slowly, but it really all came to a head the day the lab exploded."

Sara winced at the mention of that god-forsaken day. She wanted to forget that it had ever happened.

"You were hurt, and it scared me to death. Then you came and asked me to dinner, and I would have said yes, but the thing is, of any possible day in my entire life to ask me, you could not possibly have chosen a worse one. See, I had just—"

"Made the decision to have surgery," she interjected. Grissom stared her down in shock.

"For God's sake, Grissom, I'm an investigator. Did you think we wouldn't figure it out?"

Grissom was white. "D-does the whole team know?"

Sara shook her head and shrugged. "If they do, it hasn't been discussed. I had my suspicions, and when you disappeared, I cornered Catherine about it." Sara gave a humorless grin. "She's a strong woman, but when Sara Sidle decides to get a piece of information, you might as well give it up. Catherine was smart enough to know that." She hesitated for a moment, unsure whether to say what she really wanted to. She finally decided that she might as well. In a low voice, she said, "What really hurt was that you felt that Catherine was good enough to talk to, but you didn't come to me about it."

Grissom winced at the accusation. "Sara, it wasn't that. It's just that Catherine was going to be taking over for a week, so I thought she needed to know where I was."

"Bullshit," Sara said. "I'm sure that was part of it, but the bottom line is that you and Catherine have been friends for years, and you would have told her anyway. You know you would have."

Sara had called his bluff, and Grissom didn't insult her intelligence by arguing. He hung his head in defeat and decided to lay his cards on the table.

"You want to know why I didn't tell you, Sara? I didn't tell you because I didn't want you having one more reminder of how much older I am! Finally, after all that time, I had almost talked myself into letting go and giving us a chance. Then my hearing starts to go. I felt like Fate was stepping in and giving me a heads up that I was too old for you."

Sara shook her head in disbelief. "That makes no sense, Grissom. Otosclerosis is hereditary and can show up at any point in a person's life."

Grissom looked at her sadly, "Which brings me to my next point. If we have children, they could inherit it."

Sara considered. "Dominant or recessive?"

"Dominant with variable penetrance."

Sara brightened. "That's not so bad, Griss. So if we have a child, they have a 50-50 chance of inheriting the gene, but even if they do inherit it, the symptoms could be extremely mild—even non-existent."

Grissom gave her a reluctant smile. "So the short answer to your question is yes, I have always wanted to be a parent, but I figured it wasn't meant to be—for various reasons. So I gave up. And now you're here." He reached down and stroked her hair.

He shrugged his shoulders at all that he had just said and asked her, "So what do you think?"

"I think I should feed you Corona more often."


	30. Clarification

Grissom gave a hearty laugh at Sara's words and said, "Why, pray tell, do you think you should feed me Corona more often?"

Sara sat up and wrapped her arms comfortably around herself. "Because you're being extremely honest, which I appreciate." She paused. "I'm still not sure what your final answer is, though. You said you want children, but I sense a big 'but' coming on…" She looked at him questioningly.

He rubbed his hands nervously down the front of his swim trunks and took a big breath. "May I be ridiculously honest for a moment, without freaking you out?" Sara nodded. Grissom took another huge swig of beer for good measure. Swallowing, he said, "Yes. I want to have children, and I no longer think it's too late for me. But…" Sara raised a single eyebrow, waiting for the other shoe to drop. "I don't want to have children unless it's with you."

Gil Grissom seemed to have a pretty good grasp on how to stun Sara Sidle into silence, and he had just once again demonstrated his skill in this particular area. She sat there in wordless shock for one minute, then two, and as time dragged on, Grissom began to get squirmy. Had he gone too far, presumed too much? Finally, he could stand it no longer. "Sara?" he asked tentatively.

His voice broke her out of her reverie, and her brown eyes looked up to meet his. "Is that a proposition?" she asked.

Grissom considered this. "No. Just an evaluation of things as I see them. I mean…" he considered how to properly voice his thoughts. "Well, in a way, yes, it's a proposition—I'm telling you what I want. But I know it's probably too fast for you to be considering things like that. So I'm not _asking_ anything of you. I'm trying to be honest. I mean, even if we were both gung-ho about having children, I would want to give us both some more time first. On the other hand, I _am_ pushing fifty, so I probably wouldn't want to wait too awfully long. I'd like to be able to pick my own kid up, you know," he chuckled.

Sara laughed at this, then said, "Well, I'm not exactly getting any younger myself. The biological clock's ticking…"

Grissom lowered his chin in a please-tell-me-you're-kidding look.

Sara shrugged her shoulders. "What??" she asked indignantly. "Well, it is!"

Grissom just shook his head and reached for another Corona.

----------

With two days left before their return to Las Vegas, Sara and Grissom went full-steam ahead, trying to experience everything Destin had to offer.

Grissom finally went to a swank cigar shop and bought a box of Dominicans for Jim. "They're just as good as Cubans, but people always want Cubans just because they're illegal," he explained to Sara. Shrugging he added, "I doubt Jim will care, though. He'll appreciate the gesture."

Per Sara's suggestion, Grissom went in search of a nice old bottle of brandy for Jim, as well. Finding a 1979 vintage, he purchased it and added it to their rapidly growing stash of gifts for the team.

On the last day of their vacation, Grissom took Sara to Big Kahuna's, a Destin waterpark. He thoroughly surprised Sara with his enthusiasm for the water rides. Then again, Sara mused, they were just like roller coasters, only wetter. He turned out to be a load of fun in the wave pool, as well. Sara got an uncharacteristic display of his strength when he beckoned her into about 5 feet of water during a period when the waves had stopped so the lifeguards could take a break. He gave her a sly look and said "Wanna fly?"

She bunched her eyebrows together in confusion. "What?"

"Here," he said. He clasped his hands together, palms up, and held them down in the water. "Put one of your feet in my hands, and put your hands on my shoulders."

Understanding, Sara grinned and eagerly placed her left foot in his hands. Placing her hands securely on his bare, muscular shoulders, she looked him in the eye as he counted to the ready. "One, two, THREE!" Sara bounced on her right foot with each count, and on three she pushed up, hard, as he launched her into the air. With a squeal, she did a back flip and landed in the water about five feet behind where she started.

When she surfaced, she shook the water from her face and laughed in delight, the Sara Sidle Smile lighting up her tanned face. She swam back toward him and begged him to do it again. He gladly acquiesced. Showing no signs of tiring from the exertion, Grissom continued flipping Sara in the air until the waves started again. Sara found herself extremely aroused by his display of strength. She figured that his stocky build lent itself to a quiet and subtle strength, but he had tossed her _really _high. "Grissom…you're really strong," she finally said.

He shrugged. "You're not heavy," he said modestly.

"No, I'm not, but I'm still a human being, and throwing _any _person around for an extended period time can't be easy. I have to admit, I found that incredibly sexy," she admitted.

"Note to self: spend more time in weight room to impress Sara Sidle," he deadpanned.

----------

Grissom lugged the last piece of luggage down the stairs and set it by the door. "Hon, you ready?" he called to Sara.

"Yeah, I guess," came the sad voice from upstairs. "I was taking in the view one last time. This week has been…amazing," she finished as she appeared at the top of the stairs. Brightening, she said, "But at least I get to get my pictures developed when we get back!"

Grissom laughed as he opened the door and began setting the suitcases out by the car. He gently fingered the gift box in his pocket as he turned to Sara and asked, "So what was your favorite part of the week?" hoping she would say what he wanted.

Sara leaned her head to the side and considered his question. "Well, dancing at AJ's was really fun…" Grissom's heart sank. "But I'd have to say that Crab Island was the best day. So romantic," she said dreamily. A grin began to spread across Grissom's face as he pulled the box out of his pocket.

"I was hoping you'd say that." Handing the box to her, he said, "This is for you, to remember that day by…"

Sara looked at him in wonder as she fingered the small box. Looking down, she slipped the paper off, and opened it to reveal the silver chain and crab charm. Tears filled her eyes as she looked back up at him. "Griss…" she whispered. "I love it. Thank you." He pulled her into his arms and breathed in her scent.

"No, Sara. Thank you for helping me live again."

----------

Their flights back to Las Vegas were smooth, and better yet, on time. They landed at McCarran at 2 pm, plenty of time to get home and get changed before shift started. They made their way to the luggage carousel, and as they waited, Grissom kept Sara entertained by regaling her with his best Nick impression, complete with Texas drawl. Before long, tears were running down Sara's face as she doubled over in laughter.

"You clearly had too much to drink on the plane," she giggled. "I swear, get a little bourbon in you and you positively cannot be taken out in public!" She panted this last, trying desperately to regain control of her breathing.

When their luggage finally came around, Grissom reached over and hauled it off the conveyer belt. They turned around to go hail a cab, Sara still giggling and wiping her eyes, and came face to face with Conrad Ecklie. Sara's face quickly morphed into a look of total horror as Ecklie leaned forward and sneered, "You're both fired."


	31. Ecklie

**Disclaimer: I haven't done one of these in a while, so I'm going to cover all my bases here. I don't own AJ's, Crab Island, Harry T's, the Vera Cruz beach house (although I do rent it once a year…actually, no, I don't even do that—my dad does), Big Kahuna's, Destin Commons, the Silver Sands Outlet Center, the Gulf of Mexico, Choctawhatchee Bay, an airplane lavatory (nor am I a member of the mile-high club, sadly, although I intend to rectify that situation the next time Mark and I fly…), the Ft. Walton Beach airport (or any other airport, for that matter), Las Vegas, CSI, Dom Perignon, or UNLV. I do, however, own a huge pile of dirty laundry, a serious fetish for shoes, and a cat that is going to be dead in five seconds if he doesn't quit lying on my keyboard.**

**Dedication: Do I even have to say it? Shall I just go ahead and dedicate my entire life to ScullyasTrinity, just to save us all some time? Scully rocks my world, and is a damn fine conversationalist! She is also quite possibly the only person that has ever written something that has driven me to have sex with my husband. Writing doesn't typically do that to me, so I don't know what's up with that… Too much info? Sorry. But just in case you're wondering what on earth could do this to me…go to Stalemate in a Sandbox. NOW.**

Sara stood there in shock for what seemed like an eternity, attempting to absorb Ecklie's words. When she finally wrapped her head around what he had said, her first reaction was not to the loss of her job, but to her imminent loss of the man she loved. _'I cost him the job. It's his whole life. He's going to leave me now.'_ She knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she would lose Grissom over this.

She was jerked back to reality by the sudden realization that Grissom was speaking to Ecklie. "We're fired, huh? Then I guess I won't need to worry about losing my job when I do this—" and with that, Grissom dropped the suitcase in his right hand, drew back his fist, and nailed Ecklie right in the mouth. Sara gasped in shock, her right hand flying to cover her open mouth. Grissom stood there shaking his hand and said, "Damn, that felt good."

Ecklie, for his part, had staggered backward from the blow, and was nursing his bloody mouth as he fixed Grissom with a look of pure hatred. He looked as though he wanted to fight back, but he was intelligent enough to realize that his scrawny form was no match for Grissom's stocky build. As the three stood there, staring each other down, Ecklie finally recovered enough to say, "You'll pay for that, Grissom."

Grissom laughed. "With what? My job? Try again, Ecklie."

"Well, for starters, I'll have you arrested for assault."

Grissom shrugged. "First offense, I'll get a fine, maybe community service. Big deal."

"I'll make sure you never work in this profession again."

"Who said I wanted to? Maybe I'll just retire. I could teach. I hear UNLV's always looking for good professors," Grissom taunted. "Top notch biology department," he said conversationally, as though he was talking to an old friend. "I bet they need a good entomologist."

Grissom's bluff paid off. Ecklie was clearly infuriated by Grissom's lack of reaction to the loss of his job. He tossed Grissom and Sara one more evil look, threw in a clichéd "This isn't over" through clenched teeth, and stumbled toward the parking lot.

Grissom turned to Sara just in time to see her lose it. Once Ecklie had walked away, she dropped the strong front and broke down. Grissom caught her as her knees buckled and pulled her close. "Shh…" he soothed. "It's going to be okay, Sar."

"No, it's not!" she wailed, as quietly as possible under the circumstances, as she realized they were still in the middle of the airport. She gasped for breath. "I lost my job and now I'm going to lose you…"

"What?" Grissom asked incredulously. "Why on earth would you lose me?"

"You just lost your job—the most important thing in your life—because of me. How could I _not _lose you when I just cost you the thing you hold most dear?" She was getting dangerously close to hyperventilating from her tears.

Choosing to address her hyperventilation first, Grissom quickly dug in Sara's carry-on bag and found a small plastic bag. Holding it to her face, he instructed, "Breathe."

After about thirty seconds, her breathing had calmed enough for him to answer her question. He gripped her chin in one strong hand and forced her to look him in the eyes. "Sara." It was a statement, not an address. "I know I have been a total jerk in the past, but have I done _nothing_ in the past week to make you understand that the job is no longer the most important thing in my life? I thought I was making myself clear, but perhaps I need to be more direct."

She looked at him through tear-filled eyes as she struggled to comprehend his meaning.

"Sara," his voice softened. He caressed her face with his hands. "Sara, Sara, Sara," he breathed. "Baby…the job is worthless without you." He pulled her close, tucking her head under his chin. He moved his lips to her hair, and he felt her smile. She really did love having the top of her head kissed. Stepping back, he looked at her. She had calmed down. "Come on, we'll figure this out later. For now, we need to get home. I want to tell the others before Ecklie does—if they don't know already."

"Gil…how did he know?"

"That's going to be my first question, Honey."

----------

Grissom and Sara took a cab back to his townhouse. They had decided that she would start staying there immediately, and they would move her stuff in little by little.

When they walked in the door, Sara was pleasantly surprised that it felt like home already. She gave Grissom a small smile as she moved into the living room and flopped down on the couch, both physically and emotionally exhausted. Grissom sat on the edge of the couch next to her and caressed her back as he dialed Catherine on the phone.

"Hey, Cath…Yeah, we're home. Listen, I'm sorry, I know it's only 3 o'clock, and everybody's probably still asleep, but I really need you to call Warrick, Nick, and Greg and get them all over here at my place ASAP…yeah, you too, Cath…I'd rather not get into over the phone…No, everything is not okay…okay, see you soon…bye."

Sara groaned into the couch cushions as he hung up with Catherine. "This SUCKS!" she cried.

"I know, Hon." His heart was breaking for her. He knew how important the job was to her.

----------

"Seriously, Grissom, what the _hell?"_ Nick asked as he barged past Grissom. He was the last to arrive at the townhouse, and he stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Sara's red, tear-stained face. Rushing forward, he gathered her into his arms. "Baby sister, what's going on?" he asked, his voice muffled by her hair.

Grissom stepped into the living room and sat next to Sara, pulling her slightly away from Nick, a gentle reminder that she was his to comfort now. Nick, taking the hint, pulled back from Sara with an apologetic look in Grissom's direction. Grissom pulled Sara close to him and whispered in her ear as he smoothed her hair, then kissed her temple, seemingly oblivious to the presence of the rest of the team. The rest of the team, for that matter, was sitting open-mouthed, visibly stunned at Grissom's gentle and unabashed display of affection for Sara.

When he had calmed Sara down a little, he turned toward Catherine, Warrick, Nick, and Greg and proceeded to break the news bluntly. "Ecklie met us at the airport. He fired us."

"What the _fuck?"_ Nick cried, an uncharacteristic curse coming from his mouth in front of the ladies.

Catherine was steadier. "Gil, what happened?" she asked.

"I have no idea, Catherine. I assume you guys all kept your mouths shut?" he asked pointedly.

"Hell, yes, man," Warrick replied indignantly.

"I'm sorry, Warrick. I wasn't trying to accuse any of you of ratting us out, but I just don't understand how he could have found out."

"So what's going to happen now?" Catherine asked, changing the subject.

Grissom took a deep breath and blew it out. "Well, I can teach at UNLV or consult privately, or just retire." He patted Sara with the arm that was wrapped tightly around her, and said, "It's this one here I'm worried about." Sara looked up with deadened eyes, and said hollowly, "I can't really teach. I don't have a Ph.D. I might be able to snag a couple of intro level physics classes, but nothing better than that. Besides, that's not what I want to do," she said, fighting back the tears once again. The team was her family, but she didn't want to humiliate herself by crying in front of them.

Grissom was worried. She was taking this really badly. He needed to get the others out of there. He stood up. "Guys, I'm really sorry for dragging you out of bed over this, but I felt that you guys deserved to hear it from us, not that _asshole_ Ecklie," he said through clenched teeth. He nodded his head down at Sara and raised his eyebrows at them, signaling that they should go before she got any more upset.

Catherine took the initiative and stood up first. The others quickly followed suit. They each bent down to hug Sara before shuffling to the front door. Nick lingered over Sara, kissing her forehead and giving Grissom a pointed look, which the latter read as "you sure as hell better take care of her." Grissom gave Nick a reassuring nod and shut the door behind his four friends.

Outside in the hall, Catherine set her jaw and ground out a terse, "Diner."

The four CSIs made their way wordlessly to their four separate vehicles and formed a convoy heading to the familiar diner they frequented.


	32. Collective Bargaining

**A/N: For my purposes in this story, Mea Culpa never happened. **

**Is anyone still with me? Hellooo? Hello?**

Catherine slumped into the booth at the diner. Warrick sat next to her, and Nick and Greg took the seats across the table. She ran a hand over her face. "Damn, I've only been up an hour, and I'm already exhausted."

Warrick surreptitiously put his hand on her knee under the table. The gesture startled her at first, but ultimately comforted her, as it was intended to do.

Catherine made up her mind. "Guys," she started slowly. "I have an idea, but before I go into it, I need each one of you to give me your word that you won't feel pressured into going along with it, ok?" She looked around at her teammates' confused faces. They didn't know what she meant, but they each nodded.

She took a deep breath. "Ok, what if the entire nightshift quits?"

She looked around at their reactions. Nick had one eyebrow raised, Greg's mouth was slightly open, and Warrick was giving her that incredibly sexy Warrick stare. She continued, "I'm thinking that if we all quit, Ecklie will be royally fucked. I mean, think about it—we have the highest solve rate of any shift. We're valuable, guys. If we stage what essentially amounts to a walkout, the lab will grind to a halt. Basically, it's the world's biggest bluff," she said, putting it in terms Warrick would understand. He raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. She continued, "Hopefully Ecklie won't call our bluff, but just in case…I have a backup plan." She sat back with a satisfied look on her face, waiting for someone to take the bait.

Nick leaned forward. "Hello? Yes, Cath? Backup plan?"

"I happen to have a very close friend at the _Las Vegas Sun._ Said friend also happens to owe me a rather large favor. I know Grissom would hate it, but I could bring some serious media coverage to the firings if I had to. And it would _not _paint Ecklie in a pretty light."

Nick sat back and considered. After a moment he turned the corners of his mouth downward as he cocked his head to the side and raised his eyebrows. "Not bad, Cath," he mused. "Not bad at all…"

Warrick nodded. "Yeah, I'm in."

Greg nodded his assent, as well.

Catherine cautioned them, "Now, guys, I want you to think about this long and hard. Ultimately, this _is _a gamble, and it could really cost us all our jobs. I'll be okay if I lose mine," she said, referring to Sam Braun and his money, "but you guys need to evaluate whether the risk is worth it to you."

"Hey, Cath, we've all got degrees. It's not like we couldn't get a job anywhere else, you know?"

"I know, but, still… Just think about it, ok?"

"No need to think," Warrick said, effectively ending the conversation.

"Ok, then. We go in tonight, wait for Ecklie to make his little announcement, and inform him that we don't work without Gil and Sara."

----------

Catherine, Warrick, Nick, and Greg were more than a little nervous as they gathered in the break room at the start of shift. They had to pretend to go about life as normal, as if they had no idea what had happened to their friends. They were sitting around the table as usual when Ecklie strode in. The four friends took one look at Ecklie's split and swollen lip and exchanged subtle glances. What the hell had happened to him?

Ecklie slapped a folder down on the table with a self-satisfied smirk and looked the group over. Without further hesitation, he announced, "Catherine, you're in charge until further notice. Gil Grissom and Sara Sidle have been fired."

Catherine feigned surprise and indignation as she jumped up and said, "What?! Why were they fired?"

"Not that it's any of your business, but they both took unauthorized leave."

"No, they didn't! Sara has the flu and Grissom's mother had to have emergency surgery."

Ecklie gave her a look of patronizing disbelief. "Catherine, you don't actually expect me to believe that you had no knowledge of Grissom and Sidle's little Florida vacation, do you?"

"Florida?" Catherine was giving an Oscar-worthy performance.

Ecklie rolled his eyes, unwilling to play this game any longer. "Catherine, drop it. For now, you're in char—"

Catherine boldly interrupted. "Conrad, Gil and I are close friends, and if _I _didn't even know about this, might I inquire as to how you found out that they were in Florida?"

Ecklie looked so smug that Catherine was tempted to clean his clock. _'Patience, patience,' _she chided herself. With any luck, Ecklie would get his soon enough. From the look of things, she mused, someone out there already had a head start on giving Ecklie his comeuppance.

"If you must know, Ms. Willows, I became suspicious when I couldn't get either Grissom or Sidle to return my phone calls. So I looked in Grissom's personnel file and found his mother's number and gave her a little call. It was obvious she was not in the hospital, so I took the liberty of tracing his cell phone signal. I didn't get a hit off of his phone, so I tried Sidle's. Lo and behold, I get signals originating from a tower in Destin, Florida. I kept checking, and then suddenly I get a signal out of Atlanta. So I called McCarran on a hunch and asked about the next flight due in from Atlanta. I was waiting at the baggage claim area for them."

Catherine dug her nails so tightly into her palm that she thought she might draw blood. "So you fired them," she said flatly. "For being in Florida."

"That is correct."

"Even though they both have weeks and weeks of leave stored up."

"Yes. They lied about their whereabouts and gave absolutely no notice of their…activities," he said with a sneer. "Ms. Willows, is there a point to this?"

"Hmm," she stated. She glanced back at the guys. "What do you guys think about this?" she asked.

Nick laid his head over to the side, eyeing Ecklie, and drawled, "I think it smells fishy."

Catherine continued. "Well, Conrad, I think I can speak for all four of us when I say that we're going to refuse to work without Gil and Sara." She pursed her lips and looked to the boys for confirmation. Warrick, Nick, and even Greg, in an unusual display of balls, stared Ecklie down, nodding in unison.

Ecklie's eyes widened, and he sputtered, "You _do not _call the shots in this lab. You will all work or be fired."

Catherine raised an eyebrow and said, "The choice is yours, Ecklie. Hire them back or lose your entire nightshift." With that, she sat down, leaning casually back in her chair, inspecting the polish on her nails. They weren't in a union, but they might as well have been for all the collective bargaining prowess they were currently displaying.

Ecklie's voice became low and menacing as he growled, "I will not hire them back."

Catherine feigned nonchalance and shrugged, then looked over at the guys and said, "Well, I guess that's that. Looks like we've got the night off, boys." She leaned forward conspiratorially. "I hear there's a great new club that just opened up at the Mirage. Wanna go get into your party clothes and have a night on the town?" she asked animatedly.

As Ecklie looked on in shock, Warrick got into the act. "Ooh, yeah," he said. "I know a guy that DJs there, and he said that the place kicks ass. I'm in. You in, Nick?" he asked for show.

Nick bobbed his head. "I'm in, Bro. How 'bout you, Greggo?"

Greg nodded enthusiastically. "You know," he said dramatically, completely ignoring Ecklie's presence, "I've been dying to see Catherine in a hot little number, and now I've got my chance. Let's go." Catherine gave him a suggestive wink and pursed her lips seductively.

With that, the four remaining nightshift CSIs stood up and walked out of the breakroom, leaving a stunned and furious Conrad Ecklie in their wake.

----------

The four of them headed to the locker room to gather up their things. As soon as the door shut behind them, Catherine leaned against the wall, shaking furiously. Her knees buckled and she started to slide down the wall to the floor, but Warrick's strong arms caught her and held her up. Helping her over to the bench, he said, "You ok, Cath?"

She drew a few deep breaths, trying to steady her nerves. Finally, she answered, "Yeah. I just…" She paused. Shaking her head, she said, "Damn, that was harder than I thought it would be!"

Nick gave a low chuckle. "That it was. But you were incredible." Warrick and Greg voiced their agreement. "And that smug SOB will have a few things to think about now. I looked at the assignment folder when he threw it down, and it looked like it was chock-full of cases." He gave Catherine a wink. "I have a feeling our presence is going to be sorely missed this evening."

She rewarded him with a shaky smile. "Come on, guys. We need to go tell Gil and Sara about this. And besides," she said. "I could really use a drink right about now."

----------

Grissom started in surprise when the doorbell rang. He looked at his watch. The rest of his team would be at work right now. Who could it be? He glanced over at Sara, who was sitting on the couch giggling. He had finally gotten her calmed down and, to keep her mood light, he put in a DVD—_Bruce Almighty. _He figured she might be amused to see someone losing their job in a worse way than she had. And besides, he had mused, Jim Carrey could make _anyone_ laugh their ass off.

Assuring himself that Sara was indeed fine, he stepped to his front door and was shocked to see four heads through the peephole. Swinging the door open, he looked at them in amazement. Catherine stood there grinning, Greg held four pizza boxes, and Warrick and Nick had their hands full of liquor and beer.

"Boss!" Nick quipped as he barged past Grissom for the second time that day. Grissom stepped back wordlessly and allowed the others to come in. Catherine entered last and hung back with Grissom.

"How is she?" she asked in a low voice.

Grissom bit back the question he was dying to ask her and tilted his head as he answered. "She's better, I think. It took awhile to get her calmed down, but I think she's okay now." Catherine smiled and gave Grissom and unexpected hug. When she pulled back, he was looking at her curiously. "What was that for?"

Catherine shrugged, embarrassed. "Um, actually, it just really touched me how gentle you were with her earlier, and I can just, uh, tell that you're really happy." She shrugged again. "I'm just really happy for you, and I'm pissed that Ecklie did this to you."

They walked into the living room as she finished her statement. Grissom spoke up. "Which brings me to my next point. What the hell are you guys doing here? Shouldn't you be at the lab?"

Greg, Warrick, and Nick looked at Catherine. This was her deal—Grissom was going to be pissed at their stunt, and since it was her idea, she got to break the news. Catherine didn't disappoint. "Yeah, well, we quit."

Sara, who had been busy digging through a pizza box, snapped to attention. As Grissom stood speechless, Sara screeched, "You did WHAT?!"

Nick put a hand on her back. "Easy there, girl."

Catherine turned to her. "Calm down, Sara. It's part of my fiendish master plan to take over the world," she said wryly.

Grissom had finally recovered. "Catherine. What the holy hell are you talking about?"

Catherine turned to him, resigned to the fact that this was not going to be over with quickly or easily. "Gil," she reasoned, waving a hand in the air, "I've got a plan here. If the entire night shift quits—the shift with the highest solve rate at the 2nd busiest lab in the country, I might add—somebody's going to sit up and take notice. And Ecklie's going to have to explain himself." She shrugged. "I figured it was the best shot of getting you guys your jobs back."

"And if that doesn't work?" Grissom said angrily.

Catherine sighed. He wasn't going to like this. "Then I go see a good friend over at the _Sun _and call in a rather large favor."

Grissom looked at her as if she'd lost her mind, causing Sara to giggle, which drew everyone's attention to her. "What?" she shrugged. "He looks funny!"

This elicited a small smile from Grissom, and Catherine could have kissed Sara for her timing. As Grissom visibly relaxed, he looked at Catherine and said, "Cath, I can't believe you did this. I think you're crazy, and so help me I'm going to feel like shit if you all end up unemployed. But…" he softened, "it means a lot to me that you guys care enough to do this." Suddenly he thought of something else. "So do you know how Ecklie found us?"

Catherine rolled her eyes. "God, the fucking bastard traced Sara's cell phone signal. He got a signal in Florida, and kept checking until he got a signal out of Atlanta, then he went to the airport to "greet" you," she said sarcastically.

Sara looked horrified. Before she had a chance to freak out and blame herself, Grissom held out a hand to stop her. "No, Sara. It's not your fault. If we hadn't used your phone, we would have used mine. You can't be held responsible for the fact that Ecklie's an asshole."

After a quiet moment, Nick spoke up with a smile. "Pizza's getting cold, guys. What do you say we all just get trashed?"

Grissom looked at him and said, "Nicky, I never thought I'd say this, but there's nothing I'd rather do with you guys right now." And with that, he reached for a beer, which he promptly handed to Sara. Looking around, he said, "You guys up for a movie? Let's order pay-per-view."


	33. Ecklie and a Party at Grissom's

**Dedication: to Wynter Nytes, whose review made me laugh my ass off! I loved it!**

Conrad Ecklie sat in his office, head in his hands. What the hell was he going to tell the sheriff? He had spent the past half hour puzzling it over in his mind, to no avail. Looking down at the assignment folder laying on his desk, he sighed and reached for the phone. He couldn't stall any longer. Something had to be done.

"Atwater."

"Rory, it's Conrad."

"It's late. This better be good."

Ecklie sighed. Indeed it was. "Listen, I don't know how to say this, but I fired Grissom and Sidle today, and now the entire nightshift has walked out. They say if I don't hire Grissom and Sidle back, they're all quitting."

Silence. Then a roar, "You _fired_ the two best CSIs in our lab? Why the hell would you do that, Conrad? Listen, I don't like Gil Grissom any more than you do, but I'm damn sure smart enough to realize that we need him around here. That man is the damn finest grant writer, not to mention investigator, that I've ever seen! We wouldn't have _shit_ in this lab if not for the grants he's written. And where the hell do you expect me to find another entomologist? They don't grow on trees, you know. Dammit, Conrad, what were you thinking?"

Ecklie sat back as the sheriff finished his rant. "Rory, they took unauthorized leave and lied about their whereabouts."

"Ok…" the sheriff said, clearly fishing for more details.

"Grissom said that his mother was in the hospital having emergency surgery, and Sidle suddenly came down with a nasty case of the flu. So when we got really backlogged around here, I started calling both of them, trying to figure out when they'd be available. I could never reach either of them, so I got suspicious. I traced Sidle's cell signal to a tower in Florida, then I finally got another signal in Atlanta. I figured they were flying, so I went to McCarran and met the next flight in from Atlanta. Sure enough, they were together. So I fired them."

"Don't you think that might have been a little hasty? Don't you think some sort of professional censure might have been a better option?"

Ecklie's temper flamed. "No! I do not! By pulling a stunt like that, they are directly undermining my authority and causing me to lose credibility with the rest of the lab!"

Atwater ignored his outburst. "And the others?" he asked, referring to the rest of the nightshift.

"I'm positive that they knew what was going on, but I can't prove it. I informed them of the firings when shift started tonight and Catherine Willows copped an attitude and informed me that they would refuse to work without Grissom and Sidle. Those pistol-whipped boys just followed her lead," he spat in disgust.

Atwater sighed heavily. "Conrad, I'm not going to lie to you. I can't stand Gil Grissom, but I think you have just made a very serious mistake. Might I remind you that while your position is not an elected one, _mine is?"_ he spoke ominously. "And might I also remind you that I am the one who put you where you are? Thus, if I lose my position because of what you have done…" He didn't need to finish his sentence.

Ecklie was furious at the thinly-veiled threat. "I _will not_ hire them back, Rory," he spat. "I would lose all credibility in this lab."

"And you don't think that by pulling this stunt in the first place, you already have?" Atwater let Ecklie stew over this for a moment before continuing with a sigh. "Just sit tight on it for now, Ecklie. Pull in whomever you need from the other shifts and we'll figure out what to do. Surely Willows and the others will come to their senses."

----------

On the widescreen TV in Grissom's townhouse, Jim Carrey, as God, was making his arch nemesis speak in total gibberish in the midst of a news broadcast. Funny as it was under normal conditions, his antics had the completely tanked nightshift howling. Just as they started to get themselves under control, the scene got even funnier, and Grissom chose that exact moment to take a swig of beer, which he promptly spewed out through his nose, causing Sara and Catherine to fall off the couch in complete hysterics. Warrick, Nick, and Greg fell against each other laughing, and Greg finally had the presence of mind to pause the DVD so they wouldn't miss anything.

A couple of minutes later, Grissom had recovered enough to say, "Damn, that burned!" while wiping his nose, sending the entire gang into fits of giggles once again.

Suddenly Nick sat straight up. "What the hell are we doing? We've gotta get Brass over here! He's got the night off!"

Nick unclipped his cell phone and speed-dialed Brass as Sara smacked her forehead drunkenly, proclaiming, "I can't believe we forgot Brass!"

Twenty minutes later, Brass was at the door. Sara lunged into his arms and cried, "Brass! I missed you!"

Brass hugged her and laughed, saying, "Gil? What have you been feeding this girl?"

Sara pulled back and smiled at Brass, saying, "It's not that. It's just that I haven't had the chance to properly thank you for knocking some sense into him!"

Brass gave her a wide grin. "Anytime, sweetheart," he said, giving her a gentle kiss on her temple. He stepped over to the couch and said, "So what's going on? Why is the entire night shift here at your apartment, Gil, instead of working?"

Five minutes later, Brass had the entire story, and was sitting in shock, open-mouthed. "Well, damn," he proclaimed. "I think I need a drink." Nick grinned and handed him a beer.

The completely sloshed Sara spoke up and said, "Brass, it was classic. You should have seen Gil. When Ecklie said we were fired, Gil said, 'then I guess I don't need to worry about losing my job when I do this,' and he punched the bastard right in the kisser! Right in the middle of the airport!" she shouted.

Five heads swiveled toward Grissom in perfect unison. No one said a word. Finally, Catherine found her voice and said, "That…was _you?"_

Grissom flexed his right hand and said, "Yeah. Hurts like hell now, but it felt so damn good to do it."

Nick spoke up in awe. "Warrick, Greg, Brass, how 'bout we take this man out for the nicest steak dinner money can buy, on us?"

"Hell yeah, I'm in," Warrick said.

Greg spoke up, "You are my hero, Grissom."

"Aw, hell, he was already your hero, Newbie," Nick quipped.

"Ooh, presents!" Sara squealed suddenly.

"Huh?" Nick asked, confused.

"We got everybody presents in Florida!"

"Hell yeah! Ante up," Warrick said enthusiastically.

Sara disappeared down the hallway, and came back moments later, arms loaded down with packages. Grissom stepped up and grabbed some of the bags and boxes from her.

"Ok, Catherine, this is for you and Lindsey," Grissom said, handing Catherine two loaded-down bags.

"Damn, Gil!" Catherine started digging around in her bag from Zbuz, and came up with some funky picture frames, a large assortment of bath and body products, and the pièce de resistance, a large framed picture of Grissom and Sara on their first date, in the clothing that Catherine had so carefully selected. It was a picture that Grissom had had Fred take, standing outside the limousine, especially for the purpose of recording the moment for Catherine.

Her reaction was immediate. She drew in a breath and looked up at them, wide-eyed. "You guys look…amazing," she said in awe.

Grissom shrugged. "Thanks to you, Cath. Not that Sara really needed any help, but still…"

Nick was grabbing for the picture frame, and Catherine relinquished it easily. He and Warrick and Greg crowded around it, jaws dropping. "When was this?" Nick asked, looking up.

"The night before we left for Florida," Grissom said. He proceeded to explain the entire elaborate scheme he had set up, from the calligraphy notes to the Florida trip, as well as Catherine's part in getting them dressed for their big night.

Warrick was stuck back on the penthouse suite at the Venetian. "Wait, wait, wait," he said. "Let me get this straight. You booked a penthouse suite at the Venetian, without even knowing what was going to happen? Now _that's _a gamble," he said, impressed. "Wait, how the hell can you afford that?"

Grissom rolled his eyes. "That's the $64,000 question, apparently," he said, not bothering to give Warrick an answer. "Ok, ok, on with the gifts."

Sara tossed Greg his bag. Looking inside, he promptly went nuts over his Hawaiian shirts, pulling one out immediately and putting it on over his t-shirt. "Thanks, guys!" he said happily.

Brass was next. Grissom handed him two bags. Brass reached into one and pulled out the vintage bottle of brandy with a wide grin. He looked up at Grissom in appreciation. Grissom shrugged. "When I told Sara that you were the one who talked some sense into me, she said, 'remind me to buy Jim some cigars and brandy,' which we did," he smiled.

Jim reached into the next bag, pulling out the expensive box of Dominicans. "Nice," he commented. "I'm going to have to talk sense into you more often," he said, winking at Sara. "Thanks, guys," he said sincerely.

Warrick and Nick were now looking at them expectantly. Sara rolled her eyes and said, "I figured we better wait to give you guys your gifts last, because once you open them, we'll never see you again."

Warrick and Nick exchanged confused looks as Sara handed them each a large bag.

They peeked inside, and suddenly the townhouse was filled with cries of, "All _riiiiight!!!!"_ and "Hell yeah!" They pulled the hovercrafts out of the bags and immediately began tearing into the boxes, _Bruce Almighty_ long-forgotten. When they had freed their hovercrafts from the confines of the boxes, they immediately headed outside to Grissom's driveway, the rest of the team in hot pursuit. They spent the next four hours playing on the driveway, the seven friends taking turns racing the little machines. As the pile of empty bottles on the driveway grew, so did their laughter.

By4 am, complete inebriation had taken hold of the team and eyes were starting to get heavy. Grissom herded everyone back inside and announced that no one was going anywhere in this condition. "Everyone is staying here; there's plenty of room. Warrick, Catherine, why don't you just save everybody the snide comments and just go ahead and take the guest bedroom," he snarked.

"GIL!" Catherine screeched.

"Oh, come on, Cath. Everybody knows you two have got it bad for each other. Anyway, I'm just kidding. There's not even a full-sized bed in the guest room. It's a day bed with a trundle. But that's where you two are sleeping," he said with a tone of finality. "You can…get to know each other better. Brass, take the couch. Nick, Greg, you two get sleeping bags on the floor, and you, Miss Sidle, will be sleeping with me," he said with a wink.

Nick raised an eyebrow and exchanged looks with Warrick. Alcohol certainly brought out the more…colorful side of Grissom.


	34. Catherine Takes Charge

**Dedication: Michele Grahn, who still rocks my world!**

**A/N: This is a really short little chapter that I just wanted to go ahead and get cranked out. And btw, I'm SO not done with my Christmas shopping, so you may actually have to wait for an update, for once. I don't want to hear any whining, ok? ;) After all, I've managed to crank out 36 chapters in a little over a month, so I think I'm doing okay here. Just don't get so impatient that you quit reading, ok??**

Grissom was digging out his sleeping bags when the phone rang. A quick glance at the caller ID gave him pause. "Ecklie," he said to the other six with a raised eyebrow.

Catherine sprang into action. "Brass, don't say anything; I don't want you dragged into this. Everybody else, get loud and act like you're having the time of your lives! Grissom, give me the phone." Sara, Greg, Nick, and Warrick sprang into action, each of them grabbing another beer. They quickly turned the stereo on and nudged the volume up. By the time Catherine hit the "talk" button on the fifth ring, it sounded like a major party was going down.

"Hello?" Catherine shouted over the noise.

"Catherine? I thought I called Grissom's house." Ecklie sounded confused rather than angry. Catherine stifled a giggle.

"Yeah, you did! We all headed over here after we went to that new nightclub at the Mirage!" she yelled, winking at Warrick, who was dancing with a very drunk Sara.

Now Ecklie sounded pissed. "Well, I'm glad you're having so much fun at 4 in the morning on a work night, but if you don't mind, I need to speak to Grissom."

"Sure thing! GIL!" she yelled as if he wasn't standing three feet away. "PHONE FOR YOU!" Nick, Greg, and Warrick were flat-out laughing at her antics now, but to Ecklie's ears, it just sounded like everyone was having way too much fun.

Grissom took the phone, rolling his eyes at Catherine. "Grissom," he said. "Oh, hi, Ecklie. How's the lip?" he queried, causing Sara and Catherine to howl in delight.

"Sure thing, just let me get away from all this noise," Grissom said. He nodded his head toward the bedroom, and the entire team followed him. Once inside, he closed the door on the noise coming from the stereo, and proceeded to continue his conversation.

"Gil," Ecklie said. "I need you and Sara to come by the lab tomorrow night to return your badges, sidearms, cell phones, and the keys to the Tahoes."

"Conrad," Grissom spoke earnestly. "If you want me gone, that's fine. But don't take Sara down, too. She's done nothing wrong, and you're taking your hatred of me out on her. Don't punish her for something I did."

"Aww, how sweet, Gil," Ecklie sneered. "Your concern is heartwarming, but not nearly good enough, I'm afraid. And you're incorrect—she _did_ do something wrong. She said she had the flu when she did not, and she took unauthorized leave."

"Conrad," Grissom's voice took on a pleading quality as he stared straight into Sara's soft brown eyes, stunning the six people crammed into his bedroom. "It's not her fault. I exerted undue influence on her. As a matter of fact, I didn't give her much of a choice. I _ordered_ her to take a vacation," he lied, "and I'm the one who called Catherine and told her that Sara was sick with the flu." Sara held his gaze, her heart wrenching at the despair in his eyes. He was obviously going to do everything in his power to get Sara's job back for her, even if it meant degrading himself to the man he hated.

"Nice story, Gil, but again, not nearly good enough," Ecklie said, a tone of finality evident in his voice. "I need your stuff. Tomorrow night. And tell Catherine and the others that if they don't show up tomorrow night, they're all fired. They're not union, so they can't strike."

"Fine, Conrad. By the way, thanks for the phone call. Not many people would be considerate enough to call at 4 in the morning," Grissom said sarcastically.

Defeat evident in his features, Grissom punched the "off" button on his cordless. Then, in a rare emotional outburst, he threw the phone across the room and watched as it shattered. Everyone in the room jumped at his actions, and he turned to them with a sheepish look, muttering, "Sorry. I feel better, though." He looked sadly at Sara, and said, "Honey, I'm sorry. I tried, but Ecklie isn't backing down."

Before Sara could respond, Catherine spoke up. "Look, guys, let's just get some sleep for now. As soon as we wake up tomorrow, we're all getting dressed up in our court clothes to go have a little interview over at the _Sun._ And for good measure, a lawyer will be meeting us there."

Grissom stared. "A lawyer?" he asked incredulously.

Catherine looked at him as she would a child. "Yes, Gil, a lawyer." She snorted. "Certainly it has occurred to you that you were dismissed without due process. Hasn't it?" She smirked. She knew Grissom would never think of it from such a legal standpoint.

A glimmer of hope shone in both Sara's and Grissom's eyes. A slow smile spread itself across Sara's face.

Catherine laughed as the light dawned on them. "Surely you didn't think old Catherine was going to let you down, did you, guys? Truth be told, we don't actually need the reporter for this. The lawyer will be able to get your jobs back in no time. The reporter is just for publicity. I'll be damned if Ecklie's not going to lose his job over this."


	35. An interview and a lawsuit

**Completely random and drunken author's note: Hello, y'all! Yes, if the title of this little rant didn't clue you in, I'm completely toasted right now. Half of this chapter was written before now, and half was written in the midst of my drunkenness, so if you see an obvious line where things start to go south, well, then, there you go. My sincerest apologies, and I promise I'll make it up to you in the next chapter. Blame it on my sister and her fiancé and the ENORMOUS bottle of wine they were feeding me earlier. **

**Ooh, and while we're at it…my Christmas haul: 3 Victoria's Secret sweaters, CSI Season 3 on DVD (Thanks Mom and Dad!!!!!), a kickin' new cell phone (that was from my husband! He rocks!), a crapload of scrapbooking supplies, Outback Steakhouse gift cards (from the little sis and fiancé), Bath and Body Works loot, Shrek 2 on DVD, some ornaments (I collect), some candles, a Moosejaw t-shirt and Nalgene water bottle, some Pier One stuff for my house, $500 from the in-laws, and a bunch of other stuff. Between the loot and the wine, I'm feeling all right, people! Dear God in heaven, I'm probably going to die when I read this later (sober). But at any rate, hope everyone had a rockin' Christmas!**

**Dedication: S.C.C. P3, who wrote the longest and most kickass review ever. I mean, seriously, someone who spends THAT long reading my story, and then reviewing it, to boot, deserves a dedication. Although no one can ever top ScullyasTrinity, my dear Bostonian friend, S.C.C. P3 has gotta come close. :) **

Warrick stared at Catherine, wide-mouthed. "Close your mouth, Warrick. You're attracting flies," she smirked.

His reply was cut off by Grissom, who chose that exactly moment to sweep Catherine into his arms and spin her around the room in an impromptu, but clumsy dance. "Catherine Willows, you are a genius! By this time next week you'll be _my _boss," he proclaimed in a sing-song voice born of severe drunkenness.

Sara giggled and then decided to get down to business. "Okay, everybody!" she snapped cheerfully. "I want at least 20 ounces of water and two aspirin in everyone before they go to bed. No hangovers tomorrow, people. Gil, you grab the water from the fridge, and I'll start trying to rustle up some clothes for everyone to sleep in. I'm sure Griss has enough sweatpants for all the guys. Catherine, I've got something you can wear."

Grissom did as he was ordered, bringing bottles of water to his inebriated friends. As they downed the cool liquid, Sara came back into the living room with an armful of clothes. "Jim," she said, and tossed him LVPD sweats, along with a t-shirt. "Heads up, Nick," she said, throwing him a pair of UCLA running shorts, along with a gray t-shirt. Greg received UCLA sweats and said he'd sleep in the t-shirt he had on, thankyouverymuch, and Warrick got a pair of blue and white flannel pajama pants.

He raised his eyebrow at the pants and looked up at Sara. "What are you trying to do, turn me into a white guy?" Catherine found this exceedingly funny, and as she howled, Sara took the opportunity to drill her in the face with a tank top and a pair of cotton pajama pants.

"Oops, sorry, Cath," Sara said playfully.

Ten minutes later, the bottles of water had been dutifully drunk and the nightshift had all changed into their borrowed clothes. Grissom set all the alarms for 9 am and told everyone to sleep well and knock on the door if they needed anything.

As Grissom crawled under the covers and into the arms of the already-waiting Sara, he saw that she had tears in her eyes. "Baby, what's up?" he asked in alarm.

She sniffled as a sad, sweet smile spread over her face. "You. You were just so…so sweet tonight. You didn't have to do what you did with Ecklie, and I know it killed you to debase yourself to him like that, but you did it for me, and that…that just means more to me than you can ever know."

Grissom gave a small chuckle as he kissed away the tears on her cheek. "Anything for you, Sar," he said sincerely. "Now, dry your eyes and go to sleep, Sweetheart," he ordered gently.

----------

At 9 am sharp, the TV in the living room came blaring on, ripping Brass, Nick, and Greg from their deep, alcohol-induced haze. Brass hopped right up, but Nick and Greg only moaned. Despite Sara's best efforts, they were both hung over—Greg because he was still young enough that he _always _overdid it, and Nick because Texans never do anything halfway.

"Nick," Greg moaned from the pillow where his head was currently buried. "Did you get the number of that bus?"

"What bus, Bro?" Nick asked in pain.

"The one that hit me."

"Naw, dude, but I saw the driver. His name is Sam Adams."

Greg attempted to laugh, but made a strangled sound instead. He immediately jumped up and ran full speed toward the bathroom. He had barely slammed the door behind him when Brass and Nick heard the melodious sounds of Greg vomiting. "Oh, that's disgusting," Nick groaned, his own nausea barely under control.

Two minutes later, Greg emerged from the bathroom smiling. "All better," he said cheerfully. "Nicky boy, _that _is the fastest way to cure a hangover. I feel like a million bucks now," he grinned. Leaning down close to Nick, he started making disgusting gagging noises. Nick finally rose up and bolted toward the bathroom, shooting Greg a Death Look as he did so.

When Nick emerged a minute or so later, Nick was sitting next to Brass on the couch, smirking. Nick looked at Greg and said, "Greggo, I don't know whether to thank you or kill you."

Greg spread his hands wide and said, "A comment like that, my friend, only means that I have done my job for the morning. You feel better, doncha?" he asked with a self-satisfied smirk.

Nick answered him with a pillow to the face.

Just then, Grissom, Sara, Catherine, and Warrick all poked their heads into the living room. "What the hell was all that?" Catherine asked as she attempted to smooth her strawberry blonde hair down.

Brass rolled his eyes from his perch on the couch. "The cowboy and the fraternity brother here had a little too much to drink last night, and their stomachs were rebelling on them." Patting his own ample tummy, he deadpanned, "They just haven't learned to drink with the big boys yet, eh, Gil?"

Nick pointed a finger in Brass' direction. "Hey, them's fightin' words, Captain."

----------

Four hours later, the gang, sans Jim, emerged from the offices of the _Las Vegas Sun, _flanked by Catherine's promised lawyer. Catherine's old friend, Rebecca Bishop, had been more than happy to oblige her request for an exposé on the situation at the LVPD Crime Lab. After getting the go-ahead from her editor, who was intrigued by the headline-creating potential of the story, she sat the entire team down for a lengthy interview, along with some group shots. The six of them presented a nice picture, all dressed up in the clothes they normally reserved for court appearances. As they left, Rebecca told them that the story would run in tomorrow's paper, as close to the front page as she could get it.

Now standing on the steps of the newspaper's offices, Jeff Miller, the attorney, handed Grissom and Sara each a thick envelope. "A copy of the lawsuit being presented to the sheriff today," he said with a wink. As the gang crowded around, Grissom and Sara each pulled a thick bundle of papers from the envelope in their hands. Skimming through it quickly, their jaws dropped upon the discovery that they were suing for $2 million _each_ in damages for wrongful termination, including lost wages, emotional distress, and character defamation.

As Sara looked up at the wildly grinning lawyer, the only thing she could think of to say was, "Wow. That was…uh, fast."

Jeff laughed. "Catherine called me last night. I stayed up most of the night drafting the papers. Catherine's an old friend and I owe her a pretty large favor," he said, shrugging.

"Who _doesn't_ owe Catherine a favor?" Grissom muttered under his breath, earning a sharp jab from Catherine. "Ow!"

"At any rate," Jeff continued. "Catherine informs me that what you really want is your old positions back. The dollar figure is just a scare tactic. The goal is actually to worry the county enough that they will be willing to concede to any demand you make, in _addition _to giving you back your jobs—just to make this lawsuit go away." He gave a sly grin.

Sara caught on quickly. "You mean…they freak out so much over the lawsuit that they give us our old jobs back…and fire Ecklie, too?" She grinned devilishly.

"Smart cookie," Jeff said succinctly. "With any luck, you'll be back at work in two, maybe three days."

----------

"**_ECKLIE!!!_**" Sheriff Atwater's voice roared through the phone.

"What?" Ecklie said, genuinely confused at his tone.

"Grissom and Sidle are suing us for wrongful termination—to the tune of _two million dollars **each!"**_ he yelled.

Ecklie paled and sank back in his chair. He worked his jaw, but no sound emerged.

"Ecklie? Are you there?"

"Yes," he finally managed—a small squeak of a sound.

"I've looked over the papers, Conrad, and if what they allege is true, then we are neck-deep in shit, all because of some childish vendetta you have! What do you have to say about that?"

"They…they took unauthorized leave…Sidle said she was sick…Grissom...he said his mother…" his voice trailed off piteously.

"Not good enough, Ecklie," the sheriff said menacingly. "If we were talking about a couple of rookies, okay, maybe. But we're not. We're talking about two level-three CSIs who have, between them, the two highest solve rates _in our department!_" he shouted. "Regardless of your personal feelings, they are extremely valuable employees of this lab, and you ought to be professional enough to know it!" With that, he slammed the phone down in Ecklie's ear.

Ecklie sat at his desk and placed his head in his hands. _'This is not good,' _he thought in despair.


	36. Negotiation

**A/N: Wow…my utterly sincerest apologies for my drunken rant at the beginning of the last chapter. I can't believe I actually dissected my entire Christmas haul for you guys. As if _anyone _could possibly care. What a dork I am. At any rate, thanks for the positive reviews—I'm glad the drunken part of the chapter wasn't too terribly written. And you'll all be happy to know that I woke up sans hangover. My husband was in the Army for six years, so as you can guess, he knows all about the act of, er, consuming far too much adult beverage. He taught me years ago to just down a huge amount of water and pop a couple of aspirin before bed, and you'll be good to go. I have to say, though, wine does things to me that no other alcoholic beverage goes. For example, like any proud Southern gal, I can hold my own when it comes to hard liquor. I can knock shots of whiskey back like it's going out of style, and beer doesn't even faze me. But get a couple of glasses of wine in me, and I'm three sheets to the wind. I'm not subtle about it, either. Nooooo. It's like I'm on a mission from God to be the rowdiest, most obnoxoius drunk ever. Classy, huh? At any rate, thanks for putting up with my wine-induced idiocy. Now back to the show.**

The next morning, Grissom rolled over and climbed out of bed as gently as possible, determined not to wake Sara. The previous night had been a little emotional, as they had driven their Tahoes to the lab and left their keys, cell phones, badges, and firearms at the front desk. They were bending to Ecklie's demands, but they were determined not to give him so much as the time of day while doing so. Grissom had decided that while he had been willing to grovel to Ecklie in an effort to get Sara's job back, he would not allow Ecklie to rob Sara of her dignity.

Grissom shrugged into his robe and walked out the front door to get the paper. Slipping the rubber band off of the _Sun, _his mouth fell open in shock. Rebecca had promised to try to get the story close to the front page, but this was amazing. There, at the bottom of the front page, ran the headline _Firings Prompt Scandal, Walkout at LVPD Crime Lab._

Grissom remained rooted to the spot, his surroundings forgotten, as he devoured the article eagerly.

_Special to the Sun_

_By Rebecca Bishop_

_The _Las Vegas Sun_ has learned that a top-level investigation is underway at the Las Vegas Police Department's nationally-renowned crime lab following the dismissal of two of its top CSIs, Gil Grissom and Sara Sidle. Dr. Grissom, the night shift supervisor, and Ms. Sidle, one of his team members, were dismissed two days ago by recently promoted Assistant Director Conrad Ecklie for what is being termed "unauthorized leave." Grissom and Sidle are now alleging that they were fired by Ecklie for "personal reasons." The _Sun _has learned that Grissom and Sidle have filed a joint civil lawsuit against the LVPD, asking for $2 million each in damages. In a copy of the lawsuit obtained by the _Sun, _Grissom and Sidle cite their "numerous awards and publications…extremely high solve rate…" and "willingness to work even without pay at times when the maximum amount of compensated overtime had been reached" as evidence of their work ethic._

_The remaining members of the nightshift team have reportedly refused to work without their colleagues, leaving the crime lab in a precarious position. According to Catherine Willows, a senior member of Grissom's team, as well as his likely replacement, "it takes years to build a perfect team, one whose members can read each other without speaking, who have a deep camaraderie, and most importantly, who trust each other with their very lives. We felt that we finally had the pieces of the perfect team in place, and that was taken from us. We can't work without them, and we won't."_

_A source close to Mr. Ecklie claims that Grissom and Sidle were terminated because they had "begun a romantic relationship, which was completely inappropriate under the circumstances, since he was her supervisor. However," the source said, "romantic relationship notwithstanding, Grissom and Sidle took unauthorized leave of a week's time under the guise of personal illness and a family emergency."_

_When asked to comment about this allegation, Ms. Sidle said, "Dr. Grissom and I feel that the nature of our personal relationship is of very little importance to anyone but ourselves. However, I would like to point out that there is not currently an anti-fraternization policy in place at the LVPD. Frankly, the suggestion that our personal relationship could affect our working relationship is ludicrous. It implies that we are less than professional in our work ethic, and as I think our records will reflect, we are consummate professionals."_

_As to the allegation of unauthorized leave, Dr. Grissom commented, "As often happens in this line of work, Ms. Sidle was rapidly approaching the point of burnout. I strongly suggested she take a vacation, and she pointed out that I rarely take my own advice. I conceded her point and agreed to take a vacation of my own if she would take a break. I have a friend that has a vacation home on the coast of Florida, and we decided to travel there together. I knew the request for leave would never be approved by the administration, but I knew how important it was for the well-being of my entire team. For a team to be effective, the entire team must be healthy—both physically and mentally. Therefore, I concocted a "cover story," as it were, to explain our sudden leave. In hindsight, this was a regrettable action, but one that I felt absolutely necessary at the time. Ms. Sidle had ten weeks of accumulated vacation time and I myself had almost fifteen. I assumed our absence would not be a problem. Apparently I was wrong."_

_Ms. Willows said that when she and her team mates informed Mr. Ecklie that they would not work without Grissom and Sidle, they were threatened. "Our team has lost its heart," she said. "Gil and Sara are the best CSIs we have."_

_Under a Freedom of Information Act request, the _Sun _was able to obtain the personnel records of both Dr. Grissom and Ms. Sidle. Grissom and Sidle have the two highest solve rates in the department, and both have unblemished records. Grissom obtained his BS in biology at UCLA and is the LVPD's resident forensic entomologist. He has written grants for departmental equipment purchases totaling nearly half a million dollars. Ms. Sidle earned a BS in physics at Harvard, and did her graduate work in theoretical physics at UC Berkeley. She specializes in materials and element analysis. _

_A spokesman for Sheriff Rory Atwater said that he could not comment on pending litigation._

"Judging by the look on your face, it must be good." Grissom jumped when he heard Sara's voice to his right. Turning to face her, he saw her standing in the doorway of the townhouse, dressed in one of his old sweatshirts and a pair of running shorts. She looked incredibly sexy, and for a split second, the newspaper article was completely forgotten as he contemplated tackling her right there in his doorway.

"Helloooo…Earth to Grissom…newspaper article? Ecklie? Losing our jobs? Any of this ringing a bell?" she joked, trying to get his attention back to the matter at hand.

"Sorry," he smiled with a sheepish look on his face. "You just look…really good."

"Well, I'm glad to have your approval, Dr. Grissom," she returned his smile, "but I'd really like to read the article." She stepped forward and pulled the paper from his hand. "Whoa! Front page?" she looked up at him in awe.

"Looks that way," he shrugged. "They put the bit about burnout in there," he said, wincing. "I know you hated that, but since no one can prove otherwise, it really seemed to be the best tactic for getting you your job back," he said apologetically.

Surprisingly, Sara just smiled and nodded. "It's okay. Besides, it wasn't really that far from the truth. I've been really close to burnout more times than I'd like to admit," she said quietly. Grissom frowned at that. _'I'll have to get to the bottom of that later…'_ he thought.

They went back inside and Sara sat at the breakfast bar, poring over the article as Grissom got started on a batch of his world-famous pancakes. He was just setting a plate down in front of Sara when the phone rang. "I got it," he said amiably. "Grissom," he answered, out of habit. "Oh, hi…._really…_now that's interesting, isn't it? Ok, yeah, we'll see you then…bye." He hung up the phone and turned to Sara, grinning like a Cheshire cat.

"What?" she asked impatiently. "What is it?"

"That was Jeff Miller. Seems that Atwater had the LVPD attorney contact him to set up some negotiations. We're supposed to meet Jeff at the lab at 1 o'clock this afternoon." He raised his eyebrows at the small triumph, and Sara squealed and jumped into his arms.

----------

Grissom and Sara met Jeff Miller in the lobby of the crime lab at 12:55. Grissom was wearing a dark gray suit, and Sara looked smartly dressed in her navy blue business suit. When the receptionist announced that the LVPD attorney was ready to see them in Conference Room 3, Sara looked at Grissom nervously, and he gave her a reassuring smile as he held out a hand to help her to her feet. Grissom and Sara entered the room on the heels of their attorney, exuding a confidence neither of them felt. Miller, Grissom and Sara sat on one side of the long back table. On the other side sat the LVPD attorney, Sheriff Atwater, and Conrad Ecklie, who looked as if he was on the wrong side of a murder investigation—pissed, terrified, and jumpy, all rolled into one scrawny, bald package.

When everyone was settled, and the LVPD attorney introduced himself as Jimmy Logan, Miller got right to business. "It seems you would like to speak to my clients regarding a possible out-of-court settlement of their lawsuit. We're all ears," he said coolly, leaning back in his chair.

Logan pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes as he evaluated Grissom and Sara. After a moment, he spoke. "Let's get right to the point. What will your clients settle for?"

Miller bit back a smile of triumph. The LVPD knew they had a losing case on their hands. "Dr. Grissom and Ms. Sidle will settle for nothing less than full reinstatement to their positions, removal of any mention of this incident in their personnel files, and the immediate demotion, transfer, or outright dismissal of Mr. Ecklie," he stated.

Sara watched Ecklie with interest as that last bit left Jeff's mouth. He turned an interesting purple color and she thought, for just a scant moment, that smoke might actually start to pour from his ears in some twisted cartoon-come-to-life. He slammed his fists on the table and shouted, "Absolutely not!" as he half-rose from his seat in anger.

Sara choked on a snort of laughter. _'As if that was remotely his decision to make,' _she thought in amusement. From the corner of her eye, she could see Grissom attempting to hide the same amused look.

The sheriff looked as though he could spit nails as he reached up, unceremoniously grabbed Ecklie's shoulder, and roughly yanked him back down on his ass. By this point, Sara barely had it under control, and she was desperately digging her nails into her leg to try to quell her rising laughter.

Jeff cleared his throat. "Ah, I wasn't finished," he said. "In addition, my clients would like the sheriff to guarantee that Catherine Willows, Warrick Brown, Nick Stokes, and Greg Sanders will not be professionally censured or reprimanded in any way for their parts in the nightshift walkout. My clients demand that the nightshift team remain intact, precisely as it was before they were terminated."

Atwater glanced at Logan and gave him a barely perceptible shake of the head. Logan looked at Jeff and said, "I'm sorry, Mr. Miller, those terms are not agreeable. Perhaps we could discuss a somewhat, ah, _less dramatic _settlement?"

Jeff gave him a withering stare and stood up, calling their bluff. "I'm sorry, gentlemen. I believe I already said that those terms were the _least _that Dr. Grissom and Ms. Sidle would settle for. If the county will not agree, then we will take our case to court and the county will be out $4 million—not to mention two of the best forensic scientists in the country—and that's not including the other four members of the nightshift. Good day," he finished, purposefully gathering up papers.

The sheriff leaned in and quickly whispered something to the attorney. The attorney then cleared his throat and leaned forward. "Mr. Miller," he said. "We would like to continue this negotiation—without Mr. Ecklie present," he said, glancing over at Ecklie.

As Ecklie spluttered his protests to Atwater, Jeff looked at Grissom and Sara with a raised eyebrow. Grissom glanced at Sara, read what was in her eyes, and then looked back to Jeff with a small nod. Jeff sat back down, satisfied. "Very well," he said, looking pointedly across the table at Ecklie.

Ecklie continued to protest furiously until Sheriff Atwater fixed him with a steely glare and muttered through clenched teeth, "Conrad, get out. _Now._"

Ecklie gritted his teeth and looked across the table at Grissom. "You will regret this, Grissom," he growled menacingly.

Grissom raised a lone eyebrow. "Did that sound like a threat to anyone else?" he deadpanned.

Jeff patted the tape recorder on the table. "That's what this little beauty is for," he said.

----------

Half an hour later, all parties involved were shaking hands across the table. Atwater had agreed to reinstate Grissom and Sara to their former positions and there would be no mention of the incident in their personnel files. In addition, Conrad Ecklie would be demoted back to his former position as dayshift supervisor. Grissom and Sara would have preferred that he be fired outright, of course, but they knew they were lucky to be walking away from the table with what they had. Grissom and Sara signed the papers agreeing to drop their lawsuit, and Atwater signed the papers agreeing to the terms laid out by Grissom and Sara.

"Thank you, Sheriff," Grissom said sincerely as he shook the sheriff's hand.

The sheriff looked back at him and said, "I suppose I should thank you for not taking it to court," he said with a wry smile and a chuckle. "Listen, Gil, I really am sorry about all this," he said sincerely. "Ecklie's a good friend of mine, but this little stunt of his…" his voice trailed off. "Although, Gil, if you really needed the vacation time that badly, why didn't you just come to me?"

Grissom stifled a laugh. "Well, Sheriff, it's easy to say that in hindsight, but I still doubt that two simultaneous requests would have been approved."

The sheriff conceded his point with a shrug and said, "So I'll expect your team in on time for shift tonight?"

"Absolutely," Grissom said with a smile.


	37. Back to the Daily Grind

**A/N: Again, thanks for all the great reviews. I know a lot of people were irritated that Ecklie didn't get fired, but there was just no way I could realistically fire him. Firing him for what he did would make about as much sense as firing Grissom and Sara for what they did. Sure, it might be grounds for a letter of reprimand, professional censure, or even demotion (as in the story), but it would take something REALLY big to get him fired. At any rate, I just wanted to let you guys know why I did what I did.**

**Dedication: To my baby sister Laura. Ok, so she's 22. But still, she absolutely rocks. This girl and her fiancé dragged their butts to every bookstore, calendar kiosk, and specialty shop in the greater Chattanooga area for TWO WEEKS before Christmas—all in their vain effort to find me the CSI calendar I so desperately wanted (and which apparently does not exist). It was just the absolute sweetest thing, how hard they tried. So on Christmas morning, I open up a small box with a $30 gift card to Outback. She looks at me and says, "Well, it's no CSI calendar, but hey, you can just take the cast out to dinner at Outback. Or…you can go on a Thursday night and sit at the bar and ask the bartender to turn CSI on." Ok, so it was hella funny when she said it (the girl is hysterically funny), and not so much when written, but you get the picture. Anyway.**

The next few weeks passed relatively uneventfully for Grissom and Sara. They had their first fight, which was born of total exhaustion on the parts of both parties, and it was resolved in under five minutes, with Sara breaking down in tears of anger, frustration, and total weariness. At the sight of her in such a fragile state, Grissom's anger melted away and he pulled her into his arms and held her tightly as he whispered soothing words into her ear. After a moment, she pulled away, sniffling and embarrassed. "Sorry," she muttered. "It's just that this case…it was so damn hard, and then when you pulled rank on me like that—I just…I just lost it. I'm sorry. I know you were only doing your job."

Grissom closed his eyes as he pulled her close again and placed his chin atop her head. "Shhh, Baby," he soothed. "I'm sorry, too. I could have handled it a lot better. I need to work on my people skills," he chuckled, eliciting a snotty giggle from Sara.

"Hey," she said. "I think we just had our first fight." He nodded. "That sucked," she said firmly.

"I agree. Let's not do that again." She giggled at his impossible request.

----------

Grissom had to admit that the issue of being involved with a subordinate was every bit as complicated as he had always feared, and he admitted as much to Sara. As the words left his mouth, she looked down in fear and sadness. Was he having second thoughts?

Reading her expression, he quickly said, "No, Sar. That's not what I meant at all. I'm finding it every bit as difficult as I thought I would, but the odd thing is, I don't really care like I thought I would." She smiled at him, surprised by his statement. He continued. "It's hard, but it's absolutely worth it. In fact, I'm still berating myself on a daily basis for not doing this years ago," he finished quietly.

Finally, in a rare fit of frustration over how to treat everyone fairly, he decided to just openly address it to his team. Gathering them in the break room at the start of shift, he grabbed a chair and sat down across from them.

He blew out a heavy sigh, then began, "Guys…" He stopped and pinched the flesh between his eyes, trying to decide what to say. "Aw, hell," he said, rolling his eyes. "I'm just going to say exactly what's on my mind here. I'm really stressing myself out in an attempt to make sure I don't treat Sara any differently _now _than I would have _before,"_ he said, referring to their relationship. "I don't want to play favorites, but on the other hand, I don't want to stick her with every trick roll and decomp that comes our way, just to prove that I'm _not _playing favorites. It doesn't really seem fair to her to _punish _her for having a relationship with me," he stressed. "So here's the deal. We're all pretty close friends, right?" Seeing the nods, he continued. "So I'm going to do my best to hand out assignments exactly as I would have before, and I'm going to trust you guys to feel comfortable enough with me to call me on it if you think I'm being unfair in any way. You don't need to worry about negative repercussions or getting fired or anything ridiculous like that. Having been on the other side of that, I can tell you it's no picnic, so don't worry about it." He looked around at the group. "Can I trust you to tell me if you think something's not right?" Everyone except Greg nodded confidently. "Greg?" he questioned.

"Uh," Greg said, looking nervously around. He ducked his head and sheepishly said, "I guess I'm still…uh, young and new and a little scared of the bossman." A faint blush was creeping up his face as he made his admission.

Grissom's face softened at Greg's obvious discomfort. In a move that surprised everyone, Sara included, he lowered his voice and said, "I'm only hard on you because you have so much potential. You are a very valuable member of this team, Greg, and I want you to feel comfortable enough to come to me if you have any issues at all. Ok?"

Greg's eyes widened at Grissom's openness, and he tested the waters by saying, "Man, what has Sara done to you?"

Everyone else in the room was thinking the exact same thing, and they cackled at Greg's bravery in voicing the thought aloud. When Grissom's face broke into a wide grin and he joined in the laughter, Greg relaxed visibly. "Ok, Boss, you got it," he said amiably. "I'll let you know if something doesn't seem right."

----------

As Grissom and Sara neared the two month mark in their relationship, he began to realize that once again, he was going to need Catherine's help in a very important matter. On a night when Sara was out in the field, Grissom called Catherine into his office.

"Shut the door," he instructed.

She did as told, waiting patiently.

He leaned back in his chair and blew out a big sigh. He was staring at the ceiling with his hands tented over his stomach. Catherine grew curious. Something was obviously weighing quite heavily on his mind.

"Gil?" she prodded.

He looked at her. "Catherine," he began slowly. "May I request your help in yet another personal matter?"

Oh, yes, her curiosity was definitely piqued now. She leaned forward. "Of course, Gil. Name it."

He let out a breath. "I…need you to find out what size ring Sara wears."

Catherine's eyes became huge. "Are you…going to—"

"Yes."

Catherine gave a shriek like that of an overly excited twelve year-old and rushed around his desk to give him a bear hug. He chuckled as she almost knocked him over. When she pulled back, her eyes were shining with excitement. "Oh, this is the best news I've had all year!" she gushed. "Ok, tell me exactly what you need me to do."

"Well, obviously, the first thing is to find out what size ring she wears. Then I need you to find out what kind of ring she wants. I want to make her happy," he said softly.

Catherine gave him a smile. "I know you do."

"But you have to be extremely cautious," he warned. "I don't want her to suspect a thing. It's got to be a surprise because of the way I'm doing it."

Catherine's smile grew wider. "Tell, tell!"

As Grissom shared his ingenuous plan with Catherine, her smile grew until she was sure her face would crack. "Gil…" she said when he had finished, "that is just…amazing. That is brilliant. She's going to love it."

"That's the idea," he said, grinning.

Catherine thought for a moment. "Why don't you just go through her jewelry box and find a ring that she wears on that finger and find out what size it is?"

He shook his head. "She _never _wears a ring on her left ring finger. I've checked."

Catherine pursed her lips in thought. "I think I have an idea, ok? But give me a few days, at least, so I don't make her suspicious."

Grissom nodded. "Take all the time you need."


	38. Catherine Strikes Again

At the beginning of the next shift, Catherine stood in front of her locker, pretending to paw through it as she waited patiently for Sara to arrive in the locker room. She was a little nervous about how well she would play her role, but she was fairly certain that Sara wouldn't suspect anything—not for this part of the operation, anyway.

When Sara entered the locker room a few minutes later, Catherine turned to her with a scheming look in her eyes, as if she'd just had the most perfect idea in the world and required Sara's complicity.

"Sara…" she said slowly.

Sara raised a lone eyebrow. "Yes, Catherine?" she said suspiciously.

"What size ring do you wear?"

"Uh…which finger? And why?"

Catherine looked at the small box in her hand, contemplating it. She pursed her lips. "Mmm…this ring would probably be worn on either the left or right ring finger. What size are yours?"

Sara looked at her like she was out of her mind. "Um, I think my left one is a six and a half, and my right is a seven. Again…_why?_" she asked, slightly exasperated.

"Ah, perfect, this ring is a seven!" she said triumphantly, mentally cataloguing to herself, _'six and a half.' _She continued brightly, "You want a ring?"

"Why are you giving me a ring, Catherine?" Sara intoned in confusion.

"Ugh, my sister sent this ring to me. Someone gave it to her and she didn't like it, so she sent it to me. I like it, but it doesn't fit. So I thought I'd pawn it off on you if you liked it," she shrugged. She handed Sara the small box containing the sterling silver ring. "It's yours if you want," she said with another small shrug.

Sara tilted her head to the side as she gazed at the ring. "Yeah, I like it. Thanks," she said with a smile.

She slipped it on her right ring finger, then slipped it on her left ring finger and held her hand out in front of her, admiring the view. _'Perfect opportunity,'_ Catherine thought to herself as she sat down on the bench next to Sara. "Mm-_hmm,_" she said knowingly as Sara admired the ring. "Wondering what it looks like to have a ring on that finger?" she asked with a smile.

Sara blushed. "Sorry," she said sheepishly. "Just wishful thinking, I guess."

"Have you guys even talked about the idea at all?" Catherine asked, crossing her fingers that Sara would just chalk her nosiness up to her usual gossipy nature.

"Well…I don't know," Sara said slowly. "I mean, we talk about wanting to spend the rest of our lives together, but the topic of actual _marriage_ has never really been discussed," she shrugged.

"Well, have you hinted about a ring or anything?" Catherine asked, playing her part as the office busybody.

"Of course not, Cath!" Sara said indignantly.

Catherine snorted. "Oh, good grief, Sara. Come on, you know how dense he is when it comes to relationships. If you don't spell it out for him, he's not going to get the hint." She paused. "Have you even thought about what kind of ring you want?"

Sara's eyes got dreamy. "Yeah…" she said, a little shyly. "I like white gold or platinum, and I think emerald-cut diamonds are just beautiful. In a dream world, I'd get a setting with three emerald-cut diamonds, but I'm pretty sure that's going to stay just a dream," she giggled. She was blushing. "Sorry, I feel stupid. I'm over here fantasizing like some lovesick teenager."

"No," Catherine rushed to reassure her. "I think it's sweet." She rolled her eyes. "God knows if _he'll _ever get around to figuring it out, but it's sweet nonetheless, Sara."

Sara shrugged. "I'm happy with him and I'm not in any rush. I'm not going to pressure him."

'_Good,' _Catherine thought. _'You just let him knock your socks off, Hon.'_

----------

Later that shift, while Sara was still in the field processing a murder-suicide, Catherine barged into Grissom's office without knocking and flopped down on his couch, inspecting her nails.

Grissom looked at her with a mixture of exasperation and amusement. "Yes, Catherine?" he said over the top of his glasses.

"I am," she paused, "_so _damn good."

He looked at her in amazement. "Do _not _tell me you have already gotten all of that information out of her."

"Yep."

He shook his head. "I have to hand it to you, Cath. You're good. So what do I need to know?"

"She said she wears a six and a half on her left ring finger, but I'd get a seven, if I were you. Rings can be sized down really easily, but it's a real pain in the ass to make it bigger. Get the seven just in case."

"Seven," Grissom repeated slowly, writing the information down on a Post-It note. "Got it. What does she want?"

"Ok, she said she likes either white-gold or platinum—in manspeak, that's silver, Gil. She wants a ring that looks like silver, not gold. White gold costs the same as yellow gold, but if you want to get platinum, you're going to pay out the ass for it."

Ever the scientist, Grissom immediately asked, "What's the difference between platinum and white gold?"

"Platinum is stronger and more resistant to tarnish. It retains its shape really well, while gold tends to bend and wear away over time. Plus," she added, ever conscious of fashion, "platinum is just plain more prestigious."

"Platinum it is, then," Grissom said, writing "platinum" next to her ring size.

Catherine grinned. "You are so whipped."

"Huh?"

Catherine laughed. "Nothing."

He ignored her and plowed ahead. "Go on. What else does she like?"

"She wants an emerald-cut diamond. More specifically, she wants _three _emerald-cut diamonds. She seems to think that she's just dreaming on that count, but if I know you…" she didn't have to finish her sentence.

"Three emerald-cut diamonds it is, even though I have no idea what that means" he said good-naturedly, noting it on the paper. He looked up. "I hate to be stupid about this, but do I just go to the jeweler and say I want a platinum ring with three emerald-cut diamonds in a size 7?"

Catherine smiled at him. "Do you want me to go with you? You're going to have a lot of decisions to make. You can buy a ring that's already made, or you can buy the diamonds and the setting separately. Then you're going to need to decide on the carat weight that you want the diamonds to be. And you have to consider the quality of the diamonds, which has a huge effect on the price. Say you decide to buy a loose diamond for $3000. For that price, you can get a really tiny flawless diamond, or a fairly large diamond that has lots of flaws," Catherine rattled on.

Grissom put his head in his hands. "Yes, Catherine, I want you to come with me," he muttered. This was going to get complicated.

"Good!" she said brightly, standing up. "Trust me, Gil. I know you don't believe me right now, but you'll end up being glad you brought me. Now, when do you want to go?"

Grissom consulted his calendar. "Sara has court the day after tomorrow. Can we do what we need to do in an hour or so?"

Catherine nodded. "Yes, if we plan wisely. Do you want my recommendation?"

"Sure."

"She'll end up getting a better ring if you buy the setting and the diamonds separately. That way, you get to hand-pick and hand-inspect every diamond to make sure it's exactly how you want it."

He nodded. "I like that idea. So you'll meet me here in my office after shift tomorrow?"

"You got it. Oh, by the way, you owe me a hundred bucks."

"Why?"

"I bought Sara a sterling silver ring as part of my little plan. I told her my sister sent it to me but it didn't fit, and I gave it to her."

Grissom rolled his eyes playfully as he pulled out his wallet.

----------

Grissom had to grudgingly admit that Catherine was right—he was extremely glad he had brought her. They were standing in Simayof Jewelers at the Venetian—an appropriate choice, Catherine reasoned, because they had spent their first night together at the Venetian. "And besides," she said, "Simayof does exquisite jewelry."

They were standing in front of a case of loose diamonds and ring settings, and Grissom's head was reeling with all the choices to be made. There were diamonds of every grade of color, cut, clarity, and carat imaginable. And the prices were just as varying. Overwhelmed, he finally threw up his hands helplessly and said, "Catherine, you're going to have to give me a starting point here. Money is no object, so just pick something good."

"Ok," she said. "Well, since she said she wants three emerald-cut diamonds, I'm assuming she means a setting with a large center diamond flanked by two smaller ones. What do you think of a two-carat center stone?" she asked.

He blinked at her. "Catherine, I don't even know what that means."

She rolled her eyes. "Two carats is big. And it's going to cost you a fortune if you get a high-quality stone. Add the other two diamonds and the setting, and we could be talking about a ten or fifteen thousand dollar ring here."

He looked at her thoughtfully for a moment, considering things. Finally, he said, "That's fine. Just get her something beautiful. But not too gaudy. I'm not trying to be her sugar daddy," he said with a wrinkle of his nose. "I want her to know I love her, but I also want her to be able to hold her damn hand up without muscle cramps," he said with a snort.

Catherine choked back a laugh and addressed the jeweler helping them. "Ok, sir, I think we're ready to start making some decisions. What we want to do here is to create a 3-stone ring set in platinum. We're going to want our three stones to be emerald-cut, with the largest stone being in the range of 2-carats…"

----------

One week later…

Grissom stood in front of his townhouse nervously, patting the small box in his pocket. He had arranged for he and Sara to both have the night off, and he was about to take her away for the surprise of her life. His fingers worried about the small blindfold in his hand as he cautiously opened the door. Sara sat on the couch watching a movie while eating a bowl of ice cream. At the sound of his entrance, she turned to him and smiled brightly.

"Hey, Babe! How was your meeting with the DA?"

"It was fine," he said. "But now it's time for a small surprise I have planned for us. Can the movie wait?" he asked lightly.

She looked at him, her eyes full of curiosity. "Hmm…" she teased. "It _is _a pretty good flick…" She pretended to consider further. "but I guess it can wait on whatever Gil Grissom has in store. So what is it?"

He waggled a finger at her. "You'll have to wait and see. In fact," he said conspiratorially, "you're going to be blindfolded!"

"Ooh!" she said with excitement. "This sounds good!"

'_You have no idea,' _he thought. Aloud, he said, "Well, it's nothing big, but I hope you'll enjoy it nonetheless. I just haven't done anything nice for you in awhile," he said, kissing her mouth gently. "Come with me, Madame," he said, holding out his arm. He led Sara outside and into the waiting SUV, where he placed the blindfold gently over her eyes. "Can you see?" he asked.

"No," she said. "Will it take long to get wherever we're going? I don't want to get carsick," she warned.

"I think you'll be okay," he replied.


	39. The Long Awaited Proposal

**A/N: I have decided that I am now officially an old married fart. Wanna know what I did for New Year's Eve? I stayed home, drank wine, wrote fanfiction, and watched TV and movies with my husband. That's just…hot, y'all. I mean, really. On the other hand, my best friend growing up (who now lives in NYC) came over for dinner last night and we got pretty well trashed. It was beautiful. **

**Oh, yeah, just for good measure, wanna know what I did for New Year's Eve _last _year? I went to bed at TEN o'clock. I woke up on the morning of New Year's Eve with my first ever case of pink eye (which sucked goat balls, I assure you), and I was in so much pain that by ten that night, I just had to hit the hay. That was like the first time since I was probably four years old that I have not stayed up to watch the ball drop. I'm a total loser. So my kickass little sister (yeah, the 22 year old, not so little sister) and her fiancé and my husband decided that next year, we're all going to Gatlinburg for New Year's Eve. For once in my life, I'm not going to be an old married fart. And if you don't know what Gatlinburg is, let's just say it's a major Smoky Mountain tourist destination about 2 hours from where I live.**

Grissom drove as quickly as possible through the streets of Las Vegas, trying to get to his destination before Sara got carsick. After only a few minutes, he arrived at their destination—a large, elegant stone house. He rushed around to the side of the truck to usher her carefully out, blindfold still in place. As he led her slowly inside the house, he felt her almost palpable curiosity, but she held her tongue and didn't ask what he was doing.

Once inside, he led her to a particular spot in the great room. He placed a gentle kiss atop her head, and then positioned her so that her back was toward him. He backed away and said, "You may remove the blindfold now."

She reached up and gingerly tugged at the tie holding the cloth in place around her eyes. As it fell from its place, she squinted at the sudden light. When her eyes adjusted, she saw the stone fireplace in front of her, then, looking up, she saw what was sitting atop the mantle. Yet another piece of elegantly written calligraphy, only this time it was framed. Sara read the words in the frame once, twice, three times.

_My dear Sara,_

_Spend your life with me?_

_Gil_

Stunned, she whirled around to face him. Where his head should have been, there was but empty space. Looking down, she saw him. He was kneeling on one knee, an elegant box of black velvet in his hands.

Her hands flew to her mouth. Everything after that seemed to happen in slow motion.

She watched him as if she was having an out-of-body experience. He slowly opened the box to reveal the most exquisite ring she had ever seen. With tears in his eyes, he looked up at her, speaking the words she had been almost sure she would never hear.

"Sara Sidle…Will you marry me?"

She gasped for air as tears involuntarily flooded her eyes. Completely unaware of the significance of her surroundings, she dropped to her knees in front of him in shock.

Hands still covering her mouth, she whispered, "Yes. Yes, I will be your wife, Gil."

Most men would not have been able to decipher the mumblings that emanated from behind her hands, but Gil Grissom heard all he needed to hear. The love of his life had just agreed to marry him. Tears filled his eyes as he slipped the ring from its box and slid it gently onto her finger. When it was safely in place, he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to him, holding her tightly. He whispered, "Thank you," lightly into her ear as they laughed and cried together.

Slipping from their embrace, he stood up and tugged her to her feet before planting a soft, sensual kiss against her lips. They stood like that for a moment, nose to nose, foreheads touching, before Sara leaned back and wiped her eyes. Suddenly, she looked around at the empty house they were standing in. Confusion clouded her eyes as she said, "Gil, I don't understand. Where are we?"

A happy smile spread across his face as he looked around and looked back at his fiancée. "Our new home," he said simply.

Sara gasped. "You…_bought_ this house?"

A nod.

"Aughhh!" Sara shrieked happily, jumping into his arms.

He threw his head back and laughed as he held onto the woman who currently had her legs wrapped around his. She was laughing and breathing heavily in her excitement. Grissom gently set her down and said, "Would you like to explore?"

His answer came in the form of a nearly-dislocated shoulder as she grabbed his hand and yanked him forward.

As he led her through the kitchen and toward the master bedroom, he started rattling off statistics. "3500 square feet, 4 bedrooms, 3 and a half baths, formal dining room, two fireplaces, and a pool."

"A pool?!" Sara practically shrieked before nearly knocking him down in another bone-crushing hug.

"Oompf, yes, a pool," Grissom gasped. "Did I mention the _two _fireplaces?" he asked slyly as he pushed open the door of the master bedroom, revealing a large expanse of space with a stone fireplace on one wall. He glanced over at Sara, who had simply resorted to jumping up and down in glee. "Now let's go check out the master bathroom, which I'm quite sure you will enjoy." He walked through a small hallway on the other side of the room. The hallway had three doors—two on either wall, each leading to a walk-in closet ("You get the bigger one, of course," he conceded), and another door at the end of the little hall, which he pushed open to reveal a large and elegant master bathroom. Sara gasped when she saw the luxuriously-appointed space. His-and-hers vanities, complete with ample storage space, took up one wall, a large glass shower with dual shower-heads occupied a corner, and a huge white Jacuzzi sat directly across from her. A separate water closet housed the toilet. The room even contained a small linen closet.

"Damn," Sara breathed. "This is…wow," she said simply.

"Come on," Grissom winked as he took her hand and led to explore the rest of the house.

By the time they had finished inspecting every nook and cranny, Sara was in total shock. "Can…can we…afford this?" she said skeptically.

Grissom nodded at the validity of her question. "Yes, I think so. I took out a loan, obviously, but the sale of the townhouse should cover about a quarter of the total cost of this house, and our combined salaries will be more than ample to cover the remaining mortgage." He paused. "If it ever becomes necessary, I have enough in savings and investments to pay it off, but I wasn't comfortable with the idea of raiding my entire savings right now, not to mention my investments. This isn't really a good time to pull everything I have out of the stock market," he explained. Then, worriedly, "Is this okay with you? I mean, I know I should have consulted you, but I really wanted to surprise you. I've been mentally cataloguing everything you've said you wanted in a house, and when this one came on the market…" he trailed off, truly concerned.

His fears were quickly allayed by her soft voice. "No, this is absolutely perfect. It's everything I could ever dream of…" She looked down at the ring on her hand, really seeing it for the first time. She gasped. "The ring! It's exactly what I wanted! How did you know?" She looked up at him in awe.

He smirked. "Catherine," he said simply.

Her jaw fell open and her eyes narrowed as she figured out that she'd been played. "Why…that sneaky little…" she said playfully. "She's good," she said, shaking her head in wonder. "She gave me some story about her sister sending her a ring, and she gave it to me, then she watched as I put it on my left hand and looked at it, then she grilled me about what I wanted in an engagement ring, and I never suspected a thing! Some investigator I am," she snorted in amusement. Looking down at the ring once more, she said, "Grissom…I can't even imagine what this cost. This is…thank you," she finished simply as her eyes filled with tears again.

He pulled her into a hug, commenting, "You're absolutely worth every penny. Do you want to know about the ring?" He felt her nod. He pulled back and took her hand so that he could explain properly. "Catherine and I picked it out together. We bought loose stones and had them set in the ring. The setting is platinum," he began, "and the center stone is 1.92 carats. The flanking stones are 1.2 carats each. The clarity of all three stones is IF—internally flawless. The color grade of all three stones is E—they're colorless."

Sara's eyebrows rose. "Uh, ok, wow. First of all, the information you just gave me tells me that this ring cost a fortune, and I'll now be terrified to wear it anywhere, so you better tell me it's insured. Second of all, I had no idea you knew so much about diamonds."

Grissom smiled. "I didn't. I didn't even know what emerald-cut meant when I started. So I did a little research. And it _is_ insured, so you don't need to worry about that."

Sara snorted. Leave it to a man like Grissom to go from being completely ignorant to being practically an expert on a given subject in no time flat.

Inspecting the ring once again, she shook her head and said, "This is just…exquisite, Gil. Thank you so much."

"A perfect ring for a perfect woman," he murmured.

----------

When Grissom had locked up their new house and started up the truck, he turned to Sara and got down to business. "Any ideas on a date?"

She thought. "Well…I don't think we really need to do a huge ceremony, do you?"

"It's absolutely up to you. Whatever you want, you can have."

She smiled. "Well, what do you think? Four or five months, maybe?"

"Sounds good to me."

After talking it over for a bit longer, they set a date in March. It was also decided that the townhouse would go on the market immediately, and they would go ahead and move into the new house. "And," Grissom had added enticingly, "that much space means we'll have to do a lot of furniture shopping…" He grinned at Sara's excited reaction.

Suddenly, she turned to him with bright, excited eyes. "Gil?"

"Yeah?"

"Can we stop by the lab and see everybody? I want to break the news and show off my ring!" She stopped. "Or has Catherine already taken the liberty…?"

"No," he spoke quickly. "She has not. The news is ours to tell, and she understands that. Of course we'll stop by."

Ten minutes later, Grissom and Sara were walking into the building, hand in hand. Shift was just starting, and if they were lucky, they could catch the team as they gathered to receive assignments.

They were in luck. Grissom and Sara strode into the break room, grinning madly, as Catherine, Warrick, Nick, and Greg looked up at them. Catherine quickly added a grin of her own.

Nick spoke first. "I thought you two were off tonight," he drawled.

Grissom replied. "We are. But we just stopped by to make a little announcement." He looked at Sara and she nodded at him, indicating that he could say it. "Just a few minutes ago, I took Sara to a house I have just purchased and asked her to marry me. She said yes," he grinned, holding out her hand so the others could see the glittering engagement ring she sported.

For a moment, no one spoke, and then all at once, everyone went nuts.

Nick: "Oh my God! This is amazing! Grissom, you better make her happy." Pointing at Warrick, "I win again! HA! Hand it over, Bro!"

Warrick: "Hot damn, look at the size of that thing!" Rolling his eyes at Nick as he dug his wallet out, "Griss, could you not have waited a couple more months? Your boy Nick is killing me here."

Greg: "So does this mean Sara's _definitely _off the market?"

A resounding "Shut up, Greg!" filled the room as Catherine stepped forward to hug the newly-engaged couple.

"Damn, I'm good," she said in amazement as she took the ring in.

"Thanks for all your help, Cath," Sara said sincerely.

"Hey," Catherine replied. "Anything to make the old guy stop brooding."

"Well," Grissom said, taking Sara's hand once again, "we only stopped by to say hello. We don't want to keep you guys all night."

"Yeah," Catherine spoke up. "Besides, you two probably have a little…uh, _celebrating _to do, right?"

As Grissom and Sara grinned wildly, Warrick, Nick, and Greg whined at Catherine about how disgusting that idea was.

"What?" Grissom deadpanned. "You guys don't think I'd be hot in bed?"

**Additional A/N: I didn't just pull the proposal out of my ass. I know a man who proposed to his wife in this very manner. He bought a huge, gorgeous house on top of Missionary Ridge, one of Chattanooga's most prestigious historic districts. He took his girlfriend there one day after he bought it, saying that he was curious because it was an "open house" day. When he took her inside, he led her over to the fireplace, where there was a framed note that said, "Linda, will you marry me?" When she turned around, he was on his knee holding the ring. Then he told her the house was theirs. To this day, the framed note hangs in their foyer. I have always thought this was one of the most romantic proposals I have ever heard of, so I "borrowed" it for Grissom to use!**


	40. Songs for Sara

**A/N: I hope to continue cranking out chapters in a timely fashion, but I want to warn everyone that I start my new teaching job tomorrow (Monday) morning, so things may be slow for a few days as I get acclimated. Thanks for understanding, and as always, thanks for the reviews! I loved the feedback for the last chapter!**

Warrick and Greg looked completely grossed-out by the mental images Grissom's comment had put in their heads, but Nick simply shot back, "Well, you _must_ be pretty hot in the old sack, judging by the way Sara comes limping in here most nights."

Grissom blushed furiously, Warrick and Greg groaned, Catherine doubled over laughing and Sara pulled off the sweatshirt she had tied around her waist and chucked it at Nick. "What'd I say?" he drawled, playing dumb. Then he broke into a grin and stepped forward, swinging Sara up into a Texas-sized bear hug. "I'm so happy for you, Baby Sis," he whispered into her ear. "You make him treat you right, ok?"

He set her gently down and she smiled up at him. "He always does, Nicky," she replied in a low voice. "Thanks."

Clearing her throat, she got down to business. "Catherine, will you be my wedding planner?"

She grinned exuberantly. "You bet!"

"Good. You want to come over to our place tomorrow morning for breakfast?"

"I'll be there."

----------

When Grissom and Sara arrived back at the townhouse, he realized that the adrenaline levels were still way too high for sleep to be in either of their immediate futures. They were chatting animatedly about paint, furniture, honeymoon destinations, and wedding colors. As soon as the door was open, Grissom pulled Sara inside and swept her into a passionate kiss. "God, I can't believe you said yes," he whispered in a husky voice.

"I can't believe you bought me a house," she giggled. Then, becoming serious, she murmured, "Of course I said yes. I wouldn't spend my life with anyone else, Griss. You're the only man who can make me happy."

He pulled away and looked at her carefully. "I have something for you, but you might think it's a little cheesy," he said.

She gave a small smile and said, "Gee, a huge house and a huge ring in one night. What else could you possibly give me? I'm curious. What is it?"

"Come with me."

He led her into his office, where he opened a drawer and pulled out a CD case. Handing it to her, he held his breath as she looked at the cover. It consisted of a collage of pictures of the two of them, with a title overlaid—_Songs for Sara._ Her breath caught in her throat as she turned the case over and read the list of songs.

_Comfortably Numb, Pink Floyd_

_Facades, Philip Glass_

_Brown Eyed Girl, Van Morrison_

_Pretty Woman, Roy Orbison_

_Accidentally in Love, Counting Crows_

_Iris, Goo Goo Dolls_

_The Reason, Hoobastank_

_Come Away With Me, Norah Jones_

_She Will Be Loved, Maroon 5_

_Moments Like This, Alison Krauss_

_Hey Leonardo, Blessid Union of Souls_

_Truly Madly Deeply, Savage Garden_

_Call and Answer, Barenaked Ladies_

_Who Needs Sleep? Barenaked Ladies_

Sara looked up at Grissom, her eyes filled with tears. "I didn't even know you knew how to make CDs," was the only thing that came out of her mouth.

He chuckled. "I didn't. I had to…ask Greg for help," he winced.

Her eyes reflected quiet surprise that he would enlist Greg's help for something so utterly…personal. As if reading her thoughts, Grissom answered, "He didn't see the entire list of songs. I just had him help me with the first couple, then I took over from there. He did help with the cover, though…is that a problem?"

Her attention was entirely focused on the precious gift in her hands. "Of course not," she breathed.

He moved in to explain. "The songs are…well, they sort of represent the progression of our relationship. "Comfortably Numb" is a personal favorite of mine, but it's also the perfect representation of my life before you. I used work as an anesthetic against everything. I was numb, and I was totally comfortable with my life as it was. Then there's "Facades," which of course, has personal significance because of how I saw you dancing," he almost whispered, "but I think the song itself is important because I spent so much time building up this huge façade around you. The next two songs are just fun songs that I think describe you perfectly, my brown-eyed girl," he said tenderly, caressing her face. "And somewhere along the way, I fell in love—totally by accident. I never intended it to happen. It just did," he said matter-of-factly

"Then, the next song—I first heard "Iris" about three years ago, and I just sat in my car shaking. All I could see was your face." He shrugged lightly. "Since then, I've never heard the song that it hasn't had the same effect on me."

"Then the other day I heard the song "The Reason" in the lab, and I nearly knocked Greg down trying to get to the CD to find out what is was. I mean, Sara," his eyes were full of intensity, "it could have been written about me. Open the CD—I included the lyrics on the inside of the cover."

Sara opened the case and quickly scanned the inside cover. She had heard the song, but had never really paid attention to the lyrics. She read slowly,

_I'm not a perfect person. There's many things I wish I didn't do._

_But I'll continue learning. I never meant to do those things to you._

_And so I have to say before I go, that I just want you to know—_

_I've found a reason for me to change who I used to be,_

_A reason to start over new, and the reason is you._

_I'm sorry that I hurt you. It's something I must live with every day._

_And all the pain I put you through…I wish that I could take it all away, _

_And be the one who catches all your tears—that's why I need you to hear—_

_I've found a reason for me to change who I used to be,_

_A reason to start over new, and the reason is you._

_I'm not a perfect person. I never meant to do those things to you._

_And so I have to say before I go, that I just want you to know—_

_I've found a reason for me to change who I used to be,_

_A reason to start over new, and the reason is you._

_I've found a reason to show a side of me you didn't know,_

_A reason for all that I do, and the reason is you._

She choked back a sob. This man that she had fallen so deeply in love with—it seemed that he found new ways to amaze her every day. She looked up at him, tears spilling over. He gently brushed them away as he continued. "Even though I didn't discover that song until after we were already together, I think it perfectly describes why I was finally able to take the chance." He paused to gather his thoughts. A small smile formed on his lips as he said, "Then I asked you to come away with me, so I included the Norah Jones song. The next song is the one promise I can always make you—no matter what, you will be loved. "Hey Leonardo" simply says, "she likes me for me," not for all these other reasons. It always reminds me that even though I'm older and ostensibly not the best catch in the sea, you love me because I'm me, and that's good enough for you. I don't know why, but it is," he said, shaking his head in disbelief. The next two songs are just songs I really like, and I think they describe how I feel for you. And the last song," he grinned widely, "is just a fun song that I included to commemorate the one thing that it seems we will always have in common—insomnia."

Sara stood there in front of him, slowly shaking her head. She was shocked at the amount of love and thought he had put into this project. She wiped her eyes and looked up at him. "Is it silly of me to say that this means just as much to me as the ring and the house?" she asked in a whisper.

He grinned, cupped her face in his hands, and placed the gentlest of kisses on her lips. "No. I'm glad you don't think it's stupid," he said, smiling against her mouth.

"Never." She shook her head vehemently against the idea.

---------

As Catherine had predicted, Grissom and Sara did indeed do some "celebrating," and finally fell asleep in the wee hours of the morning. Sara had set the alarm for 7 am, in order to be ready for Catherine's breakfast visit, and when the alarm went off, she stretched lazily before rolling over and looking into Grissom's clear blue eyes. He had apparently been awake for awhile. A random question popped into Sara's mind, and she voiced it. "Do you think we'll manage to have a blue-eyed child?"

Grissom considered. "Well, brown is dominant, but if either of your parents has blue eyes, you'll carry the gene as a recessive…" his voice trailed off. He didn't want to bring up the still-unknown issue of Sara's parents, but her question necessitated it. He hoped she wouldn't get angry.

She nodded, her expression unreadable. "My father had blue eyes, so maybe there's a chance."

Grissom mentally noted her use of the past tense when discussing her father and resolved for the hundredth time not to push her on the issue.

----------

Sara placed the omelets on the table as Grissom opened the door to Catherine. She wasted no time getting down to business. "Date?"

"March 12," Sara answered.

"Time?"

"We figured we'd do a sit-down dinner since it's not going to be a huge affair, so probably 6 pm." Catherine noted this on her pad of paper.

"Attendants?"

Grissom and Sara looked at each other. They hadn't yet discussed this. "Well…" Sara began slowly, "I'd like for you to be my maid of honor, Catherine." Catherine dropped her pen and her jaw in perfect unison.

"Really?" she breathed.

"Of course. Who else would I have?"

At this, Catherine squealed and hugged Sara. "I would be so honored, Sara. Thank you for asking me!" Sara laughed and Grissom rolled his eyes.

"Women," he intoned in mock exasperation.

"Then," Sara continued, "I'd like to have my friend Ashley as a bridesmaid, as well as my friend Elizabeth. And it would be my honor if Lindsey would agree to be a junior bridesmaid."

Grissom was frowning, wondering who Elizabeth was. Sara had never mentioned her. On the other hand, Catherine was grinning happily. "Oh, she is going to flip when I tell her, Sara! She'll absolutely love that!" Moving on, she said, "And I assume your father will be giving you away?"

Grissom's head fell into his hands. Craptastic. He yanked his head up in time to see Sara set her jaw and say, "No," in a hard voice. He caught Catherine's eye, gave her a Look, and shook his head slightly, indicating that she should drop the subject _now._

"Ok," Catherine said smoothly, as if absolutely nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. "Will you be having anyone give you away, or are you just going to go solo?"

Sara pursed her lips and looked at Grissom. "Actually, I was thinking of having Jim give me away."

Grissom paused. If Sara wanted Jim to give her away, then that's what Sara would have. But he wasn't sure about something. "Catherine," he began slowly, "I was going to ask Jim to be my best man. Is there any reason he can't do both? If he can't, then I'll gladly surrender him to Sara."

Sara looked at him lovingly. She hadn't thought about Grissom asking Jim to be his best man, and his gesture of "giving" Jim to her was touching.

Catherine chewed on the tip of her pen as she considered. "No, I think he can do both," she said.

Sara gasped suddenly.

"What?" Grissom asked, alarmed.

Sara squeezed her eyes shut and slapped her hand to her forehead. "I'm such an idiot! Dr. Durham should give me away!"

Grissom shot Catherine another Look that said she should not even _think _of asking who Dr. Durham was.

Now Sara was torn. "I really had my heart set on asking Jim to walk me down the aisle, but I also want Dr. Durham to do it. I don't know what to do!" she cried, looking to Catherine for help.

"Well, I might have a solution, Sara," she looked carefully at Grissom, "but I need to ask you a question that may cause your fiancé here to kill me."

Sara nodded. "Go ahead."

"I'm assuming by your earlier reaction that your parents will not be attending the wedding?"

Grissom winced, but Sara replied calmly, "No. They will not."

Catherine breathed a sigh of relief at her calm reaction. "Ok, then. I take it that you are very close to this Dr. Durham…and his wife?" she said, questioningly. Sara nodded. "Well, since your parents won't be at the wedding, someone will need to sit in the parents' row on your side. If you're that close to them, why don't you have them sit there and include a note in the program about your special relationship to them—or something along those lines? Then you can still have Jim walk you down the aisle, and after he does that he'll join Gil and the other attendants. How does that sound?"

Sara smiled. "You're a genius, Catherine. That sounds brilliant."

Catherine returned the smile. "I live to serve. Continuing, she said, "Gil? Your other attendants?"

"Warrick, Nick, and Greg," he answered. "I haven't asked any of them yet, obviously, but I assume they'll say yes."

She laughed. "Are you kidding me? Greg will probably pee his pants that you asked him!"

----------

After an hour or so, Catherine declared that they had made quite enough decisions for one morning, and she headed out the door to grab some sleep. As Sara closed the door after Catherine, she turned and leaned up against it with a sigh. Looking across the room at Grissom, she said, "After this morning, I know you have more questions than ever about my parents, and I want you to know how much I appreciate your patience and understanding. However, I think I've probably kept my past a secret for long enough. If we're going to be married, then you deserve to know everything, regardless of how ugly it is. But I'm warning you, it _is _ugly." She paused for a moment. "Are you ready to hear this?"

Grissom's face tightened as he nodded silently.

Sara gestured toward the couch. "I think you might want to sit down for this."


	41. Sara's Secret

**Dedication: To CSINut214, whose story Sources knocks my socks off. Go now!**

**A/N: I'm sorry this has taken so long, guys. I hope y'all are still out there reading. All I can say is that the past few days have been one big nasty blur! I had in-service all day Monday, after which I got thoroughly trashed and ended up calling Leslie (aka Scullyastrinity) and going on a drunken rant about soft pore corn (or was that a previous night? Oh dear, I can't even keep my drunken rants straight now…). Then I had my schedule messed with all day Tuesday and Wednesday, but now I'm finally settling in. I'm going to be spending hours every day working on lesson plans, though, so I may have to resort to only updating on the weekends. I'm sorry—please forgive, but my students are going to have to come first. It's unfortunate, I know, but hey…**

**Also, I think this chapter blows goats, so I hope you're not mad at me. :( So sad.**

Sara guided Grissom to the couch, where they both sank down into the soft cushions. He reached over and clasped his hands over hers in a show of support, and was surprised to find that they were shaking.

"Sar?" he said gently. "You don't have to do this, Honey."

"I know," she breathed shakily. "But I need to." Before he could say anything else, she plunged ahead. "My parents were hippies. But when my brother was born in 1969, they straightened up—for the most part—and that's when they bought the bed and breakfast. Dad never quite got over his hippie ways, and he was always on the bottle pretty heavily, not to mention the weed, but he gave up the harder stuff." She paused, unsure of how to continue.

"He was never very affectionate with me. He adored Michael, his precious first-born son," she said bitterly, "but he just never seemed to notice me. My mom was always great, though. She was so loving. She thought I could do anything—even dance. I wasn't a very coordinated child, so Mom got me into ballet, and she was so proud when I turned out to be good at it. Then, when I was 12, everything changed." Her voice became low.

"Identical twins run in my family. My great-grandmother was a twin, and my mom was a twin. She was so close to her sister—I really think they had some sort of telepathy. They would suddenly look at each other and just burst out laughing, as if they'd shared some sort of joke without saying a word."

Grissom waited patiently, wondering what on earth her mother's twin sister had to do with anything.

"Aunt Janet was killed when I was twelve. She was divorced and lived alone…and one night she came home to an intruder, who stabbed her and left her to bleed out on the floor." Sara's eyes were hollow, and she was rocking back and forth. Grissom drew in a silent breath.

"My mother was…inconsolable. I really, truly think she lost her mind after Aunt Janet died. She began…drinking. Incessantly. And it didn't take long until she progressed to emotionally abusing me. When that got old, she started using her fists to take her anger out on me. Then she moved on to belts and sticks."

Grissom felt sick.

"You know," Sara said with a faraway look in her eyes, "I think if she had just been beating me in a blind rage, it would be easier to take. You know, crime of passion, no thought involved. But I realized at one point that she was using her head when she would beat me. She was incredibly careful to strike me where the marks wouldn't be seen—always on my back or my stomach or my rear end, or high up on my legs. Never my face or arms or lower legs. It was all so _well-thought-out._ And that made it hurt even worse. In every way."

She stopped rocking for a moment, remembering. Grissom almost retched at the anguish and fear in her eyes.

Slowly resuming her rocking motion, she continued. "Then just when I thought it couldn't get any worse, it did."

She stopped suddenly and looked at Grissom with crystal clear brown eyes.

"She started starving me."

A sob escaped Grissom's throat.

"There was a small utility closet in the basement of the house. It was about four feet by four feet in area. She used to drag me down the stairs by my hair and toss me in the closet. She'd leave me in there for hours at a time."

Sara's crippling claustrophobia. Her anxiety attacks when working in confined spaces. It all fell into place.

Grissom's voice was a mere whisper as he croaked a question. "Your father? Your brother? Where were they?"

A bitter snort. "Dad was usually passed out drunk somewhere, and Michael was always high. He was his parents' son, all right."

She breathed out and continued. "This went on for a total of six months, until just after I turned thirteen. The only time I got to eat was at school, and I resorted to stealing from other people's lunches in order to stockpile food for later. One day I got caught," she said simply.

"I was a straight A student, so it didn't sit right with the teachers and principal that I would be stealing, and truth be told, they had noticed…things. So they confronted me and I broke down and told them everything. All I had to do was pull up my shirt and show them a few bruises, along with the ribs sticking out, and the next thing I knew, my mom was being charged with everything in the book—assault, child endangerment, child neglect—the DA even tried to throw in an attempted murder charge, but of course it wouldn't stick."

Sara picked at her cuticles as two tears ran down her face.

"Dad went away for neglect, but it didn't matter. He died of cirrhosis of the liver within two months. Michael and I went into foster care. Michael ran away and took to the streets of San Francisco. I haven't seen him since, and I doubt if he's even alive. After a two-month stint with some really horrible foster parents, I ended up with a wonderful family and stayed there until I left to go to Harvard. They got me back into ballet—Mom had pulled me out after Aunt Janet died, and they encouraged me to be active in everything at my high school. The Watsons—my foster parents—were an elderly couple who never had any children of their own, and they spent their lifetime caring for foster kids. It was at their house that I met Elizabeth, the sister I never had."

Grissom's mouth formed a small "o" at the mention of the name Elizabeth—the friend that Sara wanted to have as a bridesmaid.

"Elizabeth and I were the same age, and we became instant friends. We had so much in common. We ran track together, and we were constantly pushing each other to run faster and harder. We studied together, and when it came time for college, it tore us apart to separate, but I couldn't turn the offer from Harvard down, and it had always been her dream to go to UCLA."

Grissom smiled at the mention of his alma mater.

"So we went our separate ways, but always kept in touch." Sara's voice grew sad. "The Watsons died during our third year of college, within four months of each other. Mrs. Watson died first, of a heart attack, and Mr. Watson followed her—everyone said he died of a broken heart." She smiled wistfully. "True love, I guess.

"I haven't seen Elizabeth in several years, but we talk at least once a month." She shrugged.

Grissom had tears streaming down his face. "You were right," he whispered, pulling her close. "That was an ugly story. I don't know what to say," he murmured helplessly into her hair.

"You don't need to say anything, Gil," she said softly. "I just want you to know where I'm coming from. Essentially, my father's dead, my mother's rotting in jail—at least, I think she is. She may be out by now…I don't exactly keep tabs on her," Sara shrugged. "And my brother…I don't know…" She looked up at him with a humorless smile. "Great family, huh?"

"I can't believe she starved you," Grissom said, trembling slightly. "How could she do that to such a beautiful creature—her own daughter?"

Sara shook her head quickly, as if to send the memories flying away. "I don't know, but it's in the past now." She set her jaw. "And if we ever have a daughter, I'll be damned if she isn't the most loved child this world has ever seen."

This elicited a small smile from Grissom. "I second that."


	42. Dinner with the Gang

**Dedication: To Indiegurl2008, who is quite possibly the only person in the history of the world to describe my life as a "fairly tale." At any rate, here you go, Indie! You wanted an honorable mention...here it is!**

**A/N: I'm still sorry this has taken so long! My first week of school kicked ass--it's been so fun! But still, it's been incredibly tiring! So here's my promised update. Please keep reading and reviewing! I haven't been getting as many reviews lately, so I'm concerned!**

**PS--Someone pointed out the similarity in Sara's story to the book "A Child Called It."Yeah, I cheated. I couldn't think of anything to do with Sara as it related to her childhood, since I'd already played the rape card, so I "borrowed" just a tiny bit from the aforementioned book. Sorry if it sucked. ;)**

Sara shared a few more details of her childhood horror, and she and Grissom cried together for a little while. When her tears had slowed to a trickle, Grissom demonstrated his appreciation for her openness by sharing some of his own childhood with her—things he'd never shared with anyone in his adult life.

He told her of how his father had left when he was five, unable to handle a wife who was going completely deaf, and a small precocious son, to boot. Sara had known that Grissom's father abandoned them when he was very young, but she was surprised to her such emotional details from Grissom's lips. As he was describing what little he remembered of his father, his voice choked up and his eyes began to water yet again.

Then he began to speak of his isolated childhood—"It was just my mother and myself," he mused, "and in our house we didn't generally speak. We signed," he used his hands to drive his point home. "It wasn't long before living in a silent household carried over into my outside life. Children at school didn't understand me, and I wasn't generally too concerned about it," he said matter-of-factly. "Still," he continued with a sad look in his eyes, "it would be nice if I could look back now and pinpoint at least one close childhood friend. But I can't. I was truly a loner." He looked up, as if something had clicked. "Maybe that's why I am the way I am," he said.

Sara reached out and stroked her hand down his arm. "Gil," she said earnestly. "I love you. And I need you to know that I love you exactly the way you are. I love you _because_ of the way you are. Sure, your private nature and enigmatic ways can be frustrating as hell," she laughed. "But they're also what make you _you, _and that's who I fell in love with—not some perfect Prince Charming ideal," she offered. "Although," she added with a sly smile, "you _do_ come pretty close in the Prince Charming department…"

----------

Grissom called everyone on his team up, as well as Brass, and asked if he and Sara could take everyone to dinner before shift started. Everyone had enthusiastically agreed, and now he and Sara were walking into a small Italian restaurant not far from their townhouse.

Once everyone had arrived and placed their orders, Grissom got right to business. He stood up and looked at his six companions for a moment, smiling, before he said, "Sara and I asked you all here for a reason. We're planning our wedding for March 12th, so hold that date." He smiled down at the woman sitting next to him and brushed the back of his fingers lightly across her face. Then, looking to the man sitting next to her, he said, "Jim, I'd be honored if you would stand beside me as my best man."

Jim's face lit up in a wide smile as he stood up to shake Grissom's hand enthusiastically. "Nothing would please me more, Gil," he said warmly.

Grissom smiled, then turned toward the remaining three men. "Warrick, Nick, Greg, I would love it if you three would agree to be my groomsmen."

Catherine's prophecy proved to be pretty close to the truth. Warrick and Nick grinned broadly, but Greg started squirming like a puppy in his excitement. They all agreed; Warrick and Nick did so in rather brief fashion, but Greg was so excited and flustered that he babbled incessantly until Grissom held up a hand and said, "Greg? Shut up." Everyone laughed and Greg dropped his head in mock embarrassment. Looking back up, he grinned and said, "Thanks, Grissom. It means a lot."

Grissom gave him an uncharacteristically wide grin, reached out to shake his hand, then sat down and looked at Sara expectantly.

Sara smiled broadly, then reached over and took Jim's hand. "Jim," she said shyly. "If it's all right with you, I'd love for you to walk me down the aisle."

Everyone stopped what they were doing and looked at Brass and Sara. Jim struggled to keep his emotions in check as he leaned toward Sara and gently kissed her cheek. His voice trembled as he whispered, "It would be my honor, Babydoll." His eyes shone with unshed tears as he looked up toward Grissom. "Can I do both?" Grissom nodded.

"Catherine says you can walk her down the aisle, give her away, and then join me as my best man."

Jim gave Sara a tearful smile as he tenderly stroked her hand with his own. "You don't know how much this means to me."

Sara met his gaze, her own eyes full of tears. "You're the closest thing I've had to a father in a long time, Jim," she whispered.


	43. Ashley and Elizabeth

**Dedication: To Hazelmom, who is absolutely killing me with her story, Ghosts. Go read it now!**

The next morning, after shift was over and she and Grissom had eaten a delicious pancake breakfast, Sara sat down in the living room with a phone and an address book. Grissom was sitting on the couch, ostensibly reading the newspaper, but in actual fact gazing in adoration at the sprawled out woman across from him. Sara was sitting sideways in his leather armchair, her back against the armrest and her legs flung over the other armrest. She was chewing thoughtfully on the antenna of Grissom's cordless phone as she flipped through her address book. When she found the number she was looking forward, she dialed it eagerly and waited for someone to pick up.

"Ash? Hey! It's Sara," she said happily. "I know, I know, it's been probably six months since we talked. I'm so sorry…I've missed talking to you, too..." She listened to Ashley speak for a moment before plunging right in. "Well, I've got some big news. I'm getting married!"

Grissom raised his eyebrows in amusement as he heard the squeal emanating from the phone.

Sara was laughing happily with her friend, who had finally gotten around to asking who she was marrying. "Are you ready for this?" Sara asked with a grin. "Gil Grissom." She waited for her words to take effect. "Yes, THE Gil Grissom," she giggled…and then squealed right along with her friend.

Grissom watched the entire thing with a mixture of awe, amusement, and surprise that Ashley obviously knew who he was. He was a bit taken aback by Sara's high-schoolish squealing, but he thought it was adorable. He didn't know whether to roll his eyes, laugh with her, or just chuck it all and join in the squealing like some 15 year-old girl.

Sara recovered from her squeal-fest to answer another question of Ashley's. "Oh, God, Ash, it was incredible." She proceeded to tell Ashley the entire story, from the calligraphy notes to the night at the Venetian to the week in Florida to their firing and re-hiring. Then she got to the proposal. "It was the most romantic thing I've ever heard of, Babe," she said enthusiastically. "He blindfolded me, drove me to this huge empty house and led me into the great room before he let me remove the blindfold. When I took it off, I was standing in front of this amazing fireplace, and on the mantle was this framed note. It said, "spend your life with me?" and when I turned around, he was on his knee behind me with the biggest damn diamond ring you've ever seen in your life. So of course I said yes, and then I looked around and wondered where the hell we were. So when I asked him, he said "our new home." He _bought _me a fucking house, Ash! He's unbelievable." Sara was grinning widely and sighed in contentment when she finished her story.

Grissom was now grinning along with her. It was interesting, hearing her talk about him in this way. He liked it.

"March 12th," Sara was saying. "Anyway, the entire reason I called is because I would love it if you would agree to be a bridesmaid. We'll pay for everything—your flight out here and the dress and your hotel, of course." She looked over at Grissom and raised her eyebrows, silently asking if that was okay. They hadn't discussed this.

He rolled his eyes in mock consternation. Like he could really say no _now._ Not that he wanted to. He was more than happy to pay Ashley's way.

"Catherine Willows," Sara was saying. "Yeah, we work together, and she and Gil have been close friends for years, so it only seemed right to ask her to be the maid of honor…yeah, that's right…she's the one that I didn't get along with very well when I first moved out here…things are a lot better now…she's a really good friend, not to mention the only other chick on my team! Then her daughter Lindsey's going to be a junior bridesmaid, and do you remember Elizabeth? Yeah, she's going to be my other bridesmaid…" Sara listened intently as Ashley asked her another question. "Well, Dr. and Mrs. Durham are going to sit on my side in the parents' row, since I don't want it to be glaringly obvious that I essentially have no family anymore, and one of my co-workers is going to walk me down the aisle. His name is Jim Brass, and he's really been kind of a surrogate father to me." She laughed. "Jim's going to be the busiest guy at the wedding! He's Gil's best friend, so he's going to walk me down the aisle, give me away, then step up beside Gil and be his best man!" Sara and Ashley laughed together for a few more minutes before Sara told Ashley that she would let her know what to do about her bridesmaid dress as soon as she picked it out, and that she had to make some more calls.

When she hung up, she smiled and sighed contentedly for a minute before dialing another number, this time from memory. "Elizabeth!" she cried happily into the phone before ducking her head sheepishly at a lecture she was receiving. "I know, I know, I'm sorry…I've missed our monthly calls, too. It's been what, three months now?" she said, wincing. "Well, I have a really good reason, I promise. Are you ready for this? I'm getting married!" Sara started squealing again, much to Grissom's amusement. "Are you sitting down?" she continued. "It's _him," _she said meaningfully. Grissom's eyes widened as he heard a loud and unmistakable "Shut up!" coming through the phone. Sara pulled the phone away from her ear as Elizabeth screamed bloody freaking murder at the news. Sara went through her entire spiel again, starting with the mystery notes and ending with the proposal in the "huge fucking house" once again. Then she asked Elizabeth to be a bridesmaid, but this time without the offer of paying for everything.

When Sara and Elizabeth finally hung up, Grissom looked at her over the top of his glasses. "Why didn't you offer to pay her way, too?"

Sara snorted. "Are you kidding me? She's a freakin' corporate litigator. She should be paying _our _way," she laughed. Grissom wondered about her choice of words. Apparently f-bombs only applied to large stone houses with a pool in the backyard. Sara continued. "I offered to pay Ashley's way because she's a teacher. Who goes to Harvard for four years to become I teacher, I don't know, but anyway, I knew she wouldn't be able to afford to come out here, so that's why I offered."

He nodded, touched by her thoughtfulness. Then he tilted his head to the side. "How did they know who I was?"

Sara snorted again. "I had to talk my frustrations out to _someone,_" she said. "They've been my sounding board for years. Let me tell you," she laughed, "on the day of the lab explosion, after you blew off my dinner invitation, I had a couple of _very_ pissed-off girls on my hands. If they'd been here in Vegas, I'm pretty sure the nightshift would have found your body out in the desert somewhere."

Grissom chuckled and shook his head. "Well, thank goodness for Jim bringing me to my senses." He stood up and reached for her hand. "Come on. It's time for bed and I want to take you to our bedroom and do naughty things to you."


	44. Moving, Migraines, and Musings

**A/N: This is a boring "bridge" chapter. Sorry if it sucks. ::yawn:: Teaching kicks ass, by the way, but I am SO tired all of the time. **

The next few weeks passed in a blur for Sara and Grissom. They took a week off of work to move out of the townhouse and into their new home. Sara had chosen warm, neutral colors for the house, and Grissom loved it. The great room and adjoining areas were the color of milky coffee, the kitchen was sage, and the dining room was a deep red color somewhere between cranberry and burgundy. Their bedroom was a cheerful, but not overwhelming, yellow color, and their bathroom was sea blue.

They bought quite a bit of new furniture for the house, all in deep mahoganies and cherries. By the end of the week, when they spent their first evening in the house, Grissom and Sara were exhausted and elated.

The townhouse went on the market and sold quickly, and they made a $120,000 mortgage payment on the new house, setting Sara's mind somewhat at ease about the size of the loan.

Sara bought her gown, a gorgeous Vera Wang creation that left her feeling like a princess. She took Catherine to her final fitting and laughed in delight when she came out of the dressing room and watched Catherine's jaw drop.

"Hot…Damn…" Catherine said, shaking her head slowly as she eyed Sara up and down.

"I take it you like it then?" Sara smirked.

"God, Sara, it's perfect. It's like she designed it just for you." Her eyes narrowed. "You didn't actually _have_ Vera Wang design a wedding gown for you…did you?"

Sara laughed. "Are you high, Catherine? I can't begin to imagine how much money that would cost." She tilted her head as she eyed herself in the mirror. "No, actually I was planning on going the economical route with the dress—I couldn't imagine spending that much money on something I'm going to wear once—but I saw it and knew that it was perfect." She shrugged. "What can I say?"

Catherine looked at her appreciatively. The dress was a strapless affair that showed off Sara's neck and shoulders to perfection. It had a delicate line of beading at the top, and it hugged her body as it fell to the ground. There was a slit up the right leg, nothing too obscene, but enough to give everyone a glimpse of Sara's fabulous legs.

The dress was simple and oh-so-Sara.

The dress had a chapel-length train and as for her hair, Sara had opted to pull it back into a low knot at the nape of her neck and tuck sprays of baby's breath around the knot. She had long since chosen a hairstylist, and had had two practice runs already. Catherine had helped her choose a choker crafted of Austrian crystals, with drop earrings to match. The final fitting of the dress was the last step in the long—and surprisingly smooth—process of wedding preparation.

As the seamstress moved deftly around Sara, mouth full of pins, Sara continued chatting with Catherine about preparations.

"So you've taken care of the final details with the caterer, correct?" Sara asked.

"Done."

"Okay, what about the string quartet for the ceremony and the band for the reception?"

"Done."

"O-kayyyy…suite booked at the Venetian?"

"You'll have to talk to your fiancé about that one—that's his thing."

"Okay. Umm…Ooh, nail appointment and makeup artist?"

"Done and done. Seriously, Sara, I'm on top of it."

Sara smiled. "I know you are. I'm just making sure neither of us has forgotten anything in all the chaos. Now, go book yourself a massage—you deserve it."

----------

A week before the wedding, Sara had her first bad experience with a Grissom migraine. He had suffered the onset of quite a few migraines since they had been together, but once he had his injection of Imitrex, he was fine. This time, however, it was a bit different.

She came home from running one morning to find a strangely silent house. _'Funny, he usually leaves the stereo on while he's sleeping.'_ Walking into the master bedroom, she found him on the bed, fully clothed, whimpering in pain. She was at his side in an instant. He was drenched in sweat and clenching his eyes tightly shut against any offending light.

"Baby, what is it?" she asked, alarmed.

"Migraine," he ground out. She rushed toward the bathroom for a syringe of Imitrex, but his weak voice stopped her. "Can't find it. Out of refills. Call the doctor."

She stopped. She didn't know how to handle this. He was obviously in incredible pain, and she had to do something, but this was not a situation she had ever been in. Quickly, she came to a conclusion.

"Ok, honey," she said quietly. "You have three choices. I can take you to the emergency room, but you'll have to endure the car ride and the light and noise. Or I can call the doctor, wait for him to call in the refill, and then run to the pharmacy and pick it up, but that might take an hour or so. The last choice is that you can go in the bathroom and try to throw up. You know it'll relieve the pain a bit if you do. I know it's not pleasant, but…" Her voice trailed off.

He winced at his options and wiped the sweat from his face. Finally, "Call the doctor and have the refill called in. I don't want to get caught off guard again," he murmured. "I'll go try to throw up."

"Do you need help standing up?" she asked as he tried to sit up.

It was a moot point. Sitting up caused his nausea to overtake him, and he rushed toward the bathroom, Sara hot on his heels. As his knees slammed to the floor in front of the toilet (_'God, that sounded painful. He's going to feel that later.'_), Sara opened the linen closet, grabbed a washcloth, and ran cold water over it. She wrung it out just as Grissom's heaves started to subside. He spat a few times, reached up to flush the toilet, then attempted to stand on his shaking legs.

His eyes were dark and clouded with pain and he looked at her. Her heart broke for him as she stepped toward him and pressed the cool cloth to his forehead. "Did that help any?" she asked.

"Some," he murmured, "but I'm still in quite a bit of pain. Will you drive me to the emergency room now?"

She smiled. "I guess you're taking me up on all three options, huh?"

Sara slipped her arms around him, and he leaned his 200-pound frame against her heavily as she struggled to help him to the garage. Once he was situated in the passenger seat, he buried his face in his hands to block out the light that would pour in when Sara opened the garage door.

The ride to the hospital was as smooth as could expected, and just as they arrived in the parking lot of the emergency room, Grissom's nausea overtook him again, and he flung open the door as Sara slammed on the brakes. She had never been witness to anything even _close _to this severe with him and she knew it had to be killing him to be this humbled and powerless before her.

Three hours, an injection of Imitrex, and some slight sedative later, Grissom slowly climbed back into the Tahoe with Sara, weak and exhausted from pain. Sara clutched the bag of Imitrex-filled syringes that she had picked up at the hospital pharmacy. They seemed more precious than ever now.

As she buckled her seatbelt, Grissom spoke for the first time in half an hour. "I'm sorry," he mumbled, ashamed.

Sara looked at him incredulously. "What on Earth for?" she inquired.

"For not getting my Imitrex refilled. You should have been asleep all afternoon and you had to spend it at the hospital with me. I'm sorry," he mumbled.

Sara was truly hurt. "How can you even say something like that?" she asked in a wounded voice. "Gil, how _can _you? Do you really think so little of me?"

His head jerked up, unaware of what he'd done wrong. "What do you mean?"

"God, Gil, we're getting married in a week. I _love _you, for God's sake! My heart was breaking for you when I saw the pain you were in—I would have taken the pain from you and suffered through it _myself _if I could have—and you think that I'm so selfish that you actually need to apologize for having a migraine?!" Sara's voice was rising in both pitch and volume, and she had to make an effort to keep it under control so as not to re-awaken the pain in his head. Slumping her shoulders in hurt and defeat, she said, "Do you not know how much I love you, Gil? How much I'd give for you?" She looked up at him suddenly, her eyes wet. "Why are you marrying me if you don't even know how much I love you?" She knew she was over-reacting, but she felt powerless to stop it. She didn't know why, but his apology had cut her to the core.

He breathed out slowly; she could tell he was turning things over in his drug-muddled mind. He reached out and took her hand and brought it to his face, pressing into her palm. Slowly, he pulled her palm to his lips and kissed it once, twice, three times. Finally, he whispered, "All I know is how much I love you, and how afraid I am—even now—of losing you. Things like today—they remind me of just how weak I am, and how strong you are. They remind me of how much older I am. I abhor the idea of you seeing me for the weak middle-aged man that I am, Sara." He turned his head to her and shrugged apologetically, and she was stunned to see tears in his eyes.

Her anger instantly dissipated; Her own tears spilled over and she reached across and pulled him to her, stroking his soft curls gently. "Gil…" she breathed in the tiniest of whispers. "You will never lose me. I love you for who you are, and next Saturday when I say 'till death do us part,' that is precisely what I will mean."

**Additional A/N: Shameless plug for Imitrex here. I have an aunt in Louisiana that I'm incredibly close to, and she has suffered the most agonizing, severe migraines that I've ever HEARD of for about thirty years now. The pain was not even relieved by vomiting, which will usually give most sufferers some respite. She spent an average of two weeks out of every month in bed, and the staff at the local emergency room knew her by name and on sight. Her migraines were truly what you would call crippling. But Imitrex is a miracle drug. I think that she would have given up her first-born child to have the stuff thirty years ago! Kidding, of course. But anyway, I'm incredibly grateful to the researchers at GlaxoSmithKline for this amazing drug! If it works for her, surely it'll work for good ol' Griss.**


	45. The Rehearsal

**A/N: I would now like to share with everyone my experience with CSI Thursday night. Trust me, you need to know all this.**

**So, I'm sitting in my papasan chair with a rum and coke, RIGHT in front of the TV, all curled up and ready for an exciting night of new CSI. My husband was upstairs, watching it in his office while he worked, so it was just the cat and myself downstairs. So this scene with Grissom and Sara starts, and I immediately perk up since I haven't seen them in the episode so far. As their conversation progresses, my heart starts beating wildly, I start getting out of breath, and my palms get freaking sweaty, I shit you not. My mouth is hanging open, and there is quite possibly some drool leaking out of it. The scene ends, I scream "HOT DAMN!!!!!" at the top of my lungs (much to Mark's infinite amusement), and I immediately grab my cell phone so that I can talk to Leslie in Boston (aka ScullyasTrinity) about this new and uber-cool GSR moment. So we start texting wildly back and forth, and then I start praying for a commercial. I mean, really, people, who ever heard of WANTING a commercial during CSI? So I call her as soon as the commercial comes on and we pretty much spend the first 30 seconds shrieking incoherently, then we spend the next minute or so tearing the conversation apart, piece by piece, looking for any and all hidden meanings. **

**So the episode comes to a close, and I'm TOTALLY expecting some sort of follow-up, but nooooooo. TPTB blow goats and won't give us anymore. I can always pray for February sweeps, right?? So anyway, I've been on this total GSR high for the last two days. WOO!**

**PS—This chapter was written under the influence, and I really think it sucks. In fact, I'm really beginning to think that this entire story sucks, and I fully intend to wrap it up soon. At any rate, forgive me if the alcohol-induced rambling in this chapter essentially equates to jumping the shark. Consider yourself duly warned.**

**Dedication: To Leslie because…hell, do I need a reason? Just because she kicks ass.**

The rehearsal was a quick and simple affair, thanks in part to the consummate professionalism of the staff at the Venetian, and in larger part due to Catherine the drill sergeant herding everyone through the motions.

Grissom stood atop the Ponte al di Piazza, better known as the bridge over the square, overlooking the Venetian's Grand Canal. Sara, flashing him her heart-stopping grin, was walking toward him with a bouquet made of the bows from her wedding gifts. She looked stunning in a crisp white button-down shirt and navy dress slacks, her arm looped through Jim's. When she reached Grissom and the officiate, they went through the motions of the ceremony for the second and final time. When Catherine declared that they were good to go, Grissom rubbed his hands together and said, "Ok, let's go get changed and eat!"

Rather than the traditional fancy-schmancy rehearsal dinner, he and Sara had opted for a backyard luau—in honor of their Hawaiian honeymoon—at their new house. Bright balloons and Hawaiian-looking flowers were floating on the surface of the pool, tiki torches were positioned strategically around the backyard, and lights were strung up from tree to tree. A caterer had prepared a long table full of all kinds of food. In addition to the wedding party, all of the out-of-town guests were invited to the luau.

Nick, Greg, and Warrick were the first on the scene. They stood in the backyard, deep in conversation, waiting on the others to finish changing and join them. After a moment, Grissom came bounding out the back door onto the patio, clad in an insanely busy Hawaiian print shirt, khaki shorts, and bare feet. He glanced over at the guys, chucked his thumb toward the food, and said, "What are you waiting for?" before bouncing toward the table.

The three men looked at each other with wide eyes. Warrick spoke first. "What the hell is _wrong _with that man? He's like, possessed these days."

"Yeah," Greg quipped. "Possessed by Sara."

Nick rolled his eyes and playfully punched Greg in the arm. "That was bad, Greggo. I think you're right, though. Sara has done something to him that I never thought possible—she pulled that giant stick out of his ass."

Warrick and Greg sniggered at this before simultaneously dropping their jaws. Nick quickly turned around, only to mimic their actions. Sara sashayed out the door clad in a strapless sundress in a red and white floral print, feet bare to reveal bright red toenails, and a large red flower tucked behind one ear. She had left her hair wavy and loose, and it framed her face perfectly. She looked absolutely gorgeous.

Warrick, Nick, and Greg watched in awe as Grissom immediately left the buffet and sauntered over to Sara, wrapping his arms around her. Oblivious to the presence of anyone else, he leaned in close and whispered something in her ear, causing her to give a throaty laugh.

Just as Nick was about to make yet another surprised comment, Catherine came around the side of the house with Lindsey in tow. "Hey, guys!" she grinned.

Warrick clamped his mouth shut to prevent his jaw from hanging open. Drooling on his own feet would most likely _not_ impress her. She looked stunning in a tight white sleeveless shirt with a lime green sarong wrapped around her waist. She was wearing matching green flip-flops, and her toenails were a shiny pink color. She had pulled her strawberry blonde hair back into a loose knot, leaving a few stray locks around her face.

As Warrick concentrated on keeping his eyeballs in his head, he felt a quick jab in his ribs. He glanced over at Nick, who kept his eyes trained dead ahead as he whispered, "You're completely unconvincing, Warrick." Nick couldn't help the smirk on his lips as he needled his friend. "Just go for it already."

----------

Brass, who had been elected to go pick up the out-of-towners at the airport, was the last to arrive at the party. As he came around the side of the house with Ashley, Elizabeth, and the Durhams in tow, Sara took off running, launching herself into Ashley and Elizabeth's arms simultaneously. As the three of them laughed and cried, Grissom watched with interest. Ashley was a beautiful, freckled redhead who looked every bit the fun-loving Harvard roommate that Sara had described. Elizabeth was similar to Sara in her features—brunette hair, dark eyes, tall build, and those long runner's legs. She didn't look like Grissom's idea of a corporate lawyer, but then again, he wasn't really sure what a corporate lawyer was supposed to look like.

When Sara finally released her two friends for a moment, she turned to the Durhams—an attractive couple in their early sixties—and hugged them tenderly. Dr. Durham took her face in his hands and kissed her forehead gently, and Mrs. Durham took Sara by the hands and stepped back to get a good look at her, as if she hadn't seen her in years. Grissom knew that in reality, it had been less than six months since Sara had last visited them, but apparently, Mrs. Durham took her job as surrogate mother quite seriously.

Before Sara said anything else, she turned toward Gil and eagerly waved him over, grinning like a schoolgirl. Grissom returned her grin and walked over, eager to meet her "family." He was met with four bright, expectant grins.

Sara took his hand and turned back to the four guests. "This is Gil," she said simply, a face-splitting grin firmly in place. "Gil, this is Ashley and Elizabeth, and _these _wonderful people are Terry and Doris Durham."

Grissom wasn't sure whom to address first, but Ashley and Elizabeth settled it firmly. The Durhams stood by, grinning, as Ashley and Elizabeth simultaneously lunged at him. Ashley just gave him a quick hug, but Elizabeth hung on for a moment, quietly whispering in his ear, "So _you're _the guy who's had Sara's heart for years. 'Bout damn time," she winked as he pulled back.

Ashley grinned at him as Elizabeth released him. "So…" she began. "You're Gil Grissom. Never thought I'd get to meet you. Damn, Sara—you weren't kidding about the eyes!"

Under any normal circumstances, both Grissom and Sara would have blushed profusely, but tonight, neither of them could manage anything other than a simple exchange of lovestruck glances.

Terry Durham stepped forward and held out his hand, smiling warmly. Grissom, returning the smile, shook his hand with pleasure. "Dr. Durham," he began. "I am so very pleased to meet you. Sara has spoken so highly of you and your wife. Mrs. Durham," he nodded in acknowledgement.

Mrs. Durham placed her hands on Grissom's elbows and held him at arm's length, much as she had done with Sara. She tilted her head to the side, appraising him in a motherly way. "Ahh, yes, Dr. Grissom. Sara has spoken of you so often. The pleasure is ours."

"Please, call me Gil," he implored.

Dr. Durham smiled and shook his head. "Then I must ask you to call me Terry. Doris and I have been after Sara for years to call us by our first names, but she can only manage it for about ten minutes at a time before she reverts to her old ways," he grinned.

"Yes," he agreed. "Sara always refers to you as 'Dr. and Mrs. Durham.'" He smiled.

"Okay, okay!" Sara said in mock exasperation. "All right, _Terry and Doris," _she emphasized, "let me introduce you to everyone. You too, guys," she said to Ashley and Elizabeth.

As Sara led the Durhams toward her coworkers, Ashley and Elizabeth, who had met before on several occasions, hung back to talk to Grissom. They stopped him from advancing and looked at him mischievously. "Gil," Ashley began, "I really am glad to meet you, but Elizabeth and I have to tell you something," she said, smirking.

Elizabeth took over. "Sara has waited for years for you, and we're glad you finally got your damn head out of you ass and realized what was good for you," she winked.

'_Why does everyone always phrase it that way?' _Grissom wondered randomly.

"_But._" Elizabeth continued, "if you ever hurt her, we'll hunt you down like a dog and make you beg for mercy."

Grissom was pretty sure they were only half serious, but he understood their concern for Sara. "Ladies," he began cordially, "I assure you that I will do everything in my power to prevent that from happening." He stopped and laid it all on the line for Sara's two closest friends. "She's the best thing that's ever happened to me," he said quietly.

Ashley and Elizabeth nodded in unison. "Good—Sara deserves that kind of love," Ashley said.

Elizabeth walked on ahead, and Grissom took the opportunity to discuss something with Sara's former roommate. "Ashley," be began hesitantly, "I just recently found out about—"

"Yeah," Ashley interrupted. "I was wondering about that. When did she tell you?"

"The first week we were together. She told me later that it was the first time she'd told the story in 15 years," he mused. He clenched his teeth and braced himself for the question he wanted to ask her. "Ashley," he said, "how was she? I mean," he stumbled, "how bad was it? All I know is what she told me, but you were there _with_ her. The thought of anyone hurting her kills me, but I want your version—how did she pull through it?"

Ashley tilted her head and looked at him, becoming more convinced every moment that this man that cared so much for Sara Sidle really _was _the best thing that had ever happened to her. "You love her more than anything, don't you?" she asked in a sudden moment of clarity.

Grissom's eyes were intense as he looked at her. "More than life itself," he uttered. "She is everything to me." He paused, willing himself not to tear up. "I would lay my own life down for her in an instant."

Ashley fixed him with a penetrating gaze. She was beginning to understand why Sara loved this man so much. Nodding, she said, "It was so hard for her. Not just emotionally, but physically, having to live with the constant reminders of the assault. You know that she had a bad limp for quite awhile after the rape," she said, making it a statement rather than a question. Grissom nodded. "That really pissed her off, I think," Ashley said. "She could deal with the broken wrist, the shattered cheekbone, the broken ribs. Those things all healed as quickly as could be expected—and they could more or less be hidden once the bruising went away. But the limp…" Ashley's eyes became unfocused and hazy as she thought back to her freshman year of college. Shaking her head slightly, she said, "The limp was just…there. She tried so hard to hide it, but there it was. I mean, when every muscle in your hip has just been shredded, how can you possibly walk normally? But it got better after awhile." Her eyes suddenly focused on his again. "You know about Michael, right?"

Another nod from Grissom, who said, "We actually invited him to the wedding, but his wife is due to have a baby any day, so he couldn't make it."

Ashley smiled. "Michael was a life-saver for Sara. He was so loving and patient with her. He never pushed her. I really think he would have been totally content if they had never had sex. He just wanted her to heal emotionally. And she did, Gil. I really think she did. Obviously, there will always be some lingering issues, but I really think Sara has done about as well as anyone who has been so brutally raped can be expected to do."

Grissom sighed with relief at hearing this assessment from someone who was so closely associated with her during one of the worst times of her life. His shoulders sagged visibly and Ashley couldn't help but smile. "Come on," she said, grabbing his arm. "Let's go have a luau!"

----------

Brass stood atop a folding chair positioned by the long buffet table and gave an ear-splitting whistle. As everyone looked at him, he said, "Time for the best man to give the traditional toast, so everybody grab some champagne." Glasses were passed out and filled, and the stout Brass stayed perched on the chair so he could be seen and heard.

When everyone was silent, Brass took a deep breath to collect his thoughts and let it out slowly as he looked at the two people standing a few feet away. "I've known Gil Grissom for a long time now, and he is easily my closest friend. I never thought I'd see the day when this man actually let his guard down enough to let someone in his life, but damn it all, here we are, and I, for one, couldn't be happier. I think that those of you who know Gil and Sara well will agree that they are truly meant to be together." Jim cleared his throat as he began to choke up. "I have felt privileged to witness the love that these two people have shared over the past few months." He paused. "I wish I had something incredibly eloquent and poetic to say, but I don't think any words from my mouth can describe their love as well as the looks on their faces this evening." He raised his glass. "So, Gil and Sara, here's to you. And Gil, old buddy, I've just got one thing to say to you." His voice took on a playfully exasperated tone. "It's about damn time, Buddy!"

Everyone laughed and raised their glasses in honor of the couple. Grissom gently clinked his glass against Sara's as he held her close with his free hand. He took a sip of his champagne and looked deep into her eyes. "You look beautiful," he murmured, his eyes roaming her body, taking in her long, bare legs, the bright lei around her neck, and the aromatic flower tucked behind her ear.

Sara smiled at him. "It's all for you," she whispered.

----------

Half an hour later, Sara had assembled most of the guests into two teams for a game of baseball in the large backyard. She had decided it was time to subtly showcase some of Grissom's more…surprising skills to the rest of their friends.

On the plane to Florida, Grissom had mentioned not being beaten up since eighth grade. When Sara finally thought to ask about the comment a couple of months later, he had revealed that when he was younger, he was frequently picked on due to his bookish nature, and that in the eighth grade, he decided to take up a sport to get the other boys to leave him alone. He had always loved baseball and thus decided to try out for the boys' baseball team. To everyone's surprise, including his own, he had turned out to be a hell of a pitcher, throwing 80-mph fastballs as a mere 13-year-old. It hadn't been enough to make his classmates notice him ("I was still a ghost," he had said), and it certainly hadn't been enough to make him popular, which was never his intent, but it _had_ been enough to get the other boys to leave him alone. During practice one day, he had thrown a wild pitch that had drilled a teammate in the back—and that had been all it took to earn him the respect he needed. The large bruise the teammate had sported in the locker room for the next week was enough to convince the guys that Gil Grissom might be an odd duck, but he was indeed a force to be reckoned with.

Sara wanted their friends—the guys in particular—to see that there was a side of Grissom that went beyond forensics, insects, and Shakespearian quotations. Thus the "impromptu" baseball game. She divided the teams, chose the pitchers—Grissom for her team, and Nick for the opposing team, and got everyone started. Nick's team batted first and Sara watched with pride from her post at first base as Nick stepped to the plate, talked a little playful trash to Grissom, and drew the bat up to his shoulder. Grissom smirked, drew his knee up, and smoked a fastball straight over "home plate" and into Greg's waiting catcher's mitt. Everyone fell silent for a split second before the slightly-inebriated Nick let loose with a "Hot DAMN, Grissom!"

Sara thought her face might split from the proud smile she was sporting.

The "game" only lasted about a few minutes before everyone got bored in the wake of the thorough beating that Grissom's team was handing out. To liven things up, Warrick and Nick ambushed Greg, carried him to the pool, and tossed him in, clothes and all. Sara laughed wildly and began to unzip her dress, much to the shock of all those standing nearby. She let her dress fall to the ground, revealing a skimpy, strapless bikini underneath. "Gotcha!" she giggled before diving in after Greg. Grissom surveyed the scene before him and with a "what the hell" look, shrugged out of his shirt and dove into the heated water, as well.

Brass and Catherine exchanged a Look as Brass commented, "Damn wildest rehearsal dinner _I've _ever seen." Brass then proceeded to roll his eyes and unbutton his shirt before joining the others in the water.

"Oh, good grief," Catherine muttered before jumping in after them. Too late she remembered she was wearing a white shirt, and she swore under her breath. Nick and Warrick realized this fact at about the same time she did, and Warrick suddenly felt a sharp elbow in his ribs.

"I'm going, I'm going," Warrick mumbled as he pulled off his shirt, swallowed the last of his beer, and did a huge cannonball into the pool.

----------

As the rehearsal dinner/wild party finally wound to a close, Sara and Grissom stood shivering, wrapped in towels, as they bid their guests farewell.

The Durhams approached, grinning, and they each kissed Sara on the cheek before turning to shake Grissom's hand. "This was fun," they said with enthusiasm. "You two make a wonderful couple. Thank you for having us."

Grissom smiled warmly. "It was my pleasure to finally meet you. I hope we'll get more of a chance to talk tomorrow."

When everyone had left, save Catherine, Grissom and Sara went inside. "Honey," Grissom whined, "are you sure you have to stay with Catherine tonight?"

Sara held a finger up, effectively shushing him. "Of course I am. It's bad luck for you to see the bride on the wedding day," she sniffed haughtily. "So…meet me at 6 pm tomorrow evening over the canal at the Venetian. I'll be the one in the white dress with the big smile, ok?"

Grissom pulled her close and pressed his lips gently to hers. "Tomorrow is going to be the happiest day of my life, Sara Sidle," he murmured.

----------

When Sara had taken her things and left with Catherine, Grissom stood in the silent house for a moment before retreating to the master bathroom. He turned the hot water on in his sink and began to rummage in the cabinet beneath for the supplies necessary for her surprise wedding gift. She had never outright condemned his beard, but he knew enough to realize that she preferred his face clean-shaven. She had once made a comment about missing the little cleft in his chin, and he had made up his mind right then to shave his beard for the wedding.

He smoothed shaving cream on his face, picked up his razor, and set to work.


	46. The Wedding

**A/N: I forgot to include this in the last chapter, so I'm just going to put it here for good measure. Ok, I'm not usually the type to be mean—about much of ANYTHING—but in this instance, I just gotta say, "lighten up, people!" Someone reviewed an earlier chapter of Facades saying that I was being "insensitive" to real rape victims with my statement about already having "played the rape card." Geez Louise, people. Look, everybody knows that Sara has most likely been raped at some point in her past—all of her actions on the show point to it. I chose to incorporate her rape into her college years, and then this new deal with her mom came into play this season. Obviously, it must have been something tragic, and a lot of other fanfic writers were doing a young-Sara-getting-raped thing, but I'd already used the rape angle once, and not even Sara Sidle is unlucky enough to get raped twice in one lifetime. The last thing on Earth I was trying to do was be insensitive to rape victims. Please, people, stop being so damn PC and sensitive and easily offended about everything. End rant.**

**Dedication: I think I'm just going to tattoo Leslie's name on my ass…**

Sara awoke with a start the next morning. _'Today is my wedding day.' _The thought hung in her mind, crystal-clear and full of promise. A broad smile spread itself slowly across her face as she looked at her engagement ring and contemplated the events to come.

Fifteen minutes later, she was still lying in bed, smiling, when Catherine knocked gently on the door to the guestroom. "Mrs. Grissom," she called, teasingly, "it's your wedding day!"

"Come on in, Cath," Sara said with a laugh.

Catherine opened the door and bounced in, wrapped tightly in a fluffy white terry cloth robe and carrying two coffee mugs. She placed one of the mugs down on the bedside table for Sara and perched herself on the edge of the bed. In a spontaneous moment of maternal instinct, she reached out and tucked an errant strand of brown hair behind Sara's ear. "You're going to be beautiful," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "He loves you so much, Sara," she added.

Sara was truly taken aback. Her friendship with Catherine had grown from nonexistence to true closeness by leaps and bounds, but Catherine had never displayed this level of intimacy with her. She offered Catherine a shy smile before softly saying, "Thank you, Cath."

Catherine lifted one corner of her mouth as she continued. "I mean it, Sara. I've never seen him so happy. Remember _Jerry Maguire_? You complete him. And I'm pretty sure you had him at 'hello.'" Catherine gave a small snicker through the tears that were threatening. She drew in a long, cleansing breath before changing the subject. "So…you ready for your bridesmaid's breakfast?"

----------

Forty-five minutes later, Lindsey was opening the front door to Ashley and Elizabeth. It had been decided that the traditional bridesmaid's breakfast would be held at Catherine's house, rather than trying to navigate Saturday-morning Vegas traffic in an effort to go out to eat.

Ashley and Elizabeth greeted Lindsey with enthusiasm, then rushed into the kitchen to help Catherine finish up the feast of pancakes, omelets, French toast, fruit salad, and biscuits with gravy. "Where's Sara?" Ashley finally asked, looking around in bewilderment.

"Shower," Catherine supplied. "She should be out any time. She was yakking about taking extra time shaving her legs, most important day of her life, yada, yada, yada, who knows?" Catherine rolled her eyes playfully.

"Hey! I heard that!" Sara's voice came floating into the kitchen as she emerged from the hallway, towel wrapped snugly around her head and pink terrycloth robed cinched tightly around her waist. "Hey, guys!"

Breakfast turned out to be a longer affair than planned, with plenty of good girl talk and Ashley and Elizabeth falling in love with an unexpectedly mature-acting Lindsey. "I want to adopt her!" Ashley cried at least twice, causing Lindsey to blush.

"Aunt Sara and Uncle Gil would probably have issues with that," she deadpanned. "They like to spoil me, despite Mom's protests."

Catherine rolled her eyes. "You're not kidding on that note, Linds," she muttered. Addressing Ashley and Elizabeth, she stated, "They're taking her skiing in UTAH, for God's sake. What am I going to do with them?"

Sara held up her hands, disavowing all responsibility. "Hey, I can't take any credit for that one, Cath. It was all his idea, and I'll be damned if I'm going to miss Gil Grissom on skis. Hell, I didn't even know he _could_ ski. He's from Southern California, for the love!"

Truthfully, Grissom had nearly knocked Sara on her ass the day he looked at her and said, "Do you ever ski?"

She had answered him, "Uh…I _have _skied, but it's not like it's way up there on my list of things that I'm incredibly good at or anything."

"What would you think of taking Lindsey on a skiing trip?"

She had just looked at him blankly for a moment before replying, "Uh…what?"

"Lindsey. Skiing. Utah."

"What brought this on?"

"Well…I'm supposed to be her godfather, but I really never do much with her, and I thought it might be time to change that…"

Sara had eventually agreed, her shocked state leading her to mumble, "Sounds great," without really thinking of what she was saying. But as the time for the trip grew closer, her excitement grew with it.

"Sara!"

Sara snapped back to Catherine's kitchen. "Sorry," she said sheepishly.

Lindsey was babbling excitedly to Ashley and Elizabeth now. "Uncle Gil and Aunt Sara got me ski stuff for Christmas. Wanna see it?" The two women nodded, and Lindsey dragged them off to her bedroom, chatting animatedly about North Face jackets and Columbia ski gear.

Catherine started clearing dishes and Sara stood to help her before being chastised. "Stop that!" Catherine swatted her hand. "It's your wedding day and you have a massage appointment in 45 minutes. Go get dressed!"

----------

The rest of the day passed in a complete blur for Sara. The massage appointment, nail appointment, and hair and makeup appointments flew by, and before she knew it, she was standing in a room at the Venetian, gown on, bridal jewelry in place, pacing.

Catherine, Lindsey, Ashley, and Elizabeth were putting the finishing touches on their makeup as a small knock sounded at the door. "Who is it?" Catherine asked suspiciously.

"It's Jim," the voice said.

"Got it, Cath," Sara said, heading to the door.

She opened the door and stepped outside to where Jim was standing.

"Oh, Sara…" he whispered, drinking her in. "You look…exquisite," he whispered, holding her hands tightly.

Suddenly insecure, Sara ducked her head, bit her lip, and said, "Are you sure?"

Jim leaned in to plant a gentle kiss on her cheek. "Honey, I've never been more sure of anything in my life."

Sara blushed. "Thank you, Jim." She took him in for the first time, clad in his tuxedo. "You look so handsome," she breathed. Her eyes filled with tears as she said, "Thank you for doing this for me. Thank you for walking me down the aisle."

Jim's face softened as he looked at the woman he'd come to consider as a daughter. "I'm honored, Sara. Truly honored."

----------

If the last ten hours had flown by at warp speed for Sara, the next twenty minutes were excruciatingly slow. Her bridal attendants finished their makeup and slid into the silky navy blue dresses Sara had chosen, some impromptu pictures were taken, and finally, a knock sounded at the door. Catherine cracked it open and peeked around the edge, grinning when she saw who was standing there. "Back so soon, Jim?" she quipped, opening the door further to allow him entry.

Jim Brass stepped into the room carrying an exquisite bouquet of roses. "Delivery for the bride," he announced as he handed the bouquet to Sara. Sara grinned broadly as she accepted the flowers and eagerly dug for the enclosed card. Her eyes misted as she read the name on the envelope. _Sara Grissom._ She opened the envelope carefully and retrieved the enclosed card. She read the words that Grissom had inscribed in his neat, masculine script.

_My dearest love,_

_Today is living proof that sometimes, dreams DO come true._

_I'll be waiting on the bridge._

_Gil_

Sara's face crumpled with emotion, and she quickly began fanning her eyes to dry the tears before they escaped and ruined her makeup. Brass smiled gently and reached in to kiss her cheek. "I don't think I've ever seen him so excited, Sara."

Sara gave him a watery smile and took a few deep breaths. "How much longer?" she asked. Brass glanced down at his watch.

"About ten minutes."

----------

Ten minutes later, Sara was standing just out of view of the bridge and grand canal. She clutched her bouquet of calla lilies with a mixture of excitement and nervousness, and glanced up at Catherine with a shy smile. Ashley, Elizabeth, and Lindsey had already made their way toward the bridge, and Catherine was getting ready to walk out. She leaned in and pecked Sara on the cheek quickly before saying, "Thank you for letting me stand beside you, Sara. You're a beautiful bride." With that, she turned and walked through the stone doorway and out into the courtyard, toward the bridge.

Sara took a deep breath as the Venetian wedding rep positioned her and Jim in the archway, spreading her train out behind her. Sara flashed Jim a heart-stopping smile and squeezed his hand before looping her right arm through Jim's left. "You ready for this?" she grinned.

Jim grinned back. "Absolutely." His face morphed into a slight look of sadness as he leaned over to gently kiss her cheek for the third time that day. "I'll never get to do this with Ellie..." His voice trailed off, but he needed to say no more to convey his gratefulness for being allowed this special role in Sara and Grissom's wedding day.

Sara returned his sad smile, saying, "I'm only sorry that Ellie was too blind to see what an amazing person you are, Jim."

Jim shrugged and seemed ready to add something when the first notes of the _Trumpet Voluntary _rang through the Plaza and the Venetian wedding rep signaled that it was time for Sara and Jim to begin their walk.

Sara grinned in anticipation and drew in one last calming breath before allowing Jim to escort her into the early evening light of the Plaza.

Somewhere in her mind, Sara heard the subdued gasp of her small crowd of wedding guests as they saw her emerge, but it didn't register. Her eyes were locked onto the face of the man standing only yards in front of her. As she drank in the sight of his bare face—that magnificent face that she hadn't seen unprotected in nearly two years—her lips parted and she emitted a small gasp. She felt, rather than saw, Jim smile at her reaction.

----------

Grissom's heart raced as Catherine neared the bridge. Sara, _his _Sara, would be emerging in mere seconds. His arms were placed neatly in front of him, his right hand loosely clasping his left wrist in the age-old stance of men awaiting their brides. As his breath quickened in anticipation, he found himself clutching his left wrist to keep his hands from shaking. God, how he wanted to see her.

The lone trumpeter stepped forward, placed his horn to his lips, and began playing the _Trumpet Voluntary. _Suddenly, Jim and Sara came into view, and Grissom thought for a split second that his heart might actually explode from the unimaginable agony of love that swept over him as he looked at her. She was nothing short of perfection incarnate.

It seemed as if a hundred things were going through his mind at once, starting with her reaction to his clean-shaven face. He watched with some satisfaction as her face lit up and her supple lips parted in a small "o."

Grissom had not seen her wedding gown before, and the sight of it took his breath away. The strapless bodice accented her curves perfectly, and her lightly freckled shoulders looked so delicate and feminine in the soft light of dusk. Her dark hair was swept back into a low, tight knot at the nape of her neck

As she and Jim approached the bridge, Sara's eyes never left his, and Grissom was fairly certain that everyone standing in the Plaza could have suddenly disappeared and he would have been clueless. It was the most spiritual, supernatural moment of his life so far.

His reverie was somewhat broken by, of all things, Sara's right leg. As she and Jim passed the last of the white folding chairs set up for the guests, Sara's entire body was finally exposed and a flash of flesh against white caught his attention. Wrenching his eyes away from Sara's, he looked down and saw a tanned, lean, muscular leg protruding from a slit in the dress. It awakened something primal within him, and the logical part of his mind sprang into action, wondering why that was so erotic, when he'd seen the same leg naked hundreds of times now. Perhaps it was the juxtaposition of the pure white innocence of the bridal gown with the sensual images of the things he knew Sara could do with those legs.

As his bride and her escort closed the remaining distance between them, Gil Grissom drew a steadying breath and focused on her face once again.

----------

When Sara finally registered the fact that Grissom had shaved his beard (_'For me, he shaved it for me…'_), she focused on his eyes. The fierce intensity of the love she saw reflected there almost physically impacted her. She was suddenly drawn to him, as if by some supernatural force. Her legs were moving, but it was as if she no longer had free will over them. The logical, detached portion of her mind had blessedly shut down for a few moments.

She and Jim cleared the guest seating and she watched as Grissom's gaze flickered for an instant, and then settled on the slit in her dress. A deep laugh bubbled up within her and threatened to break free; he loved her legs.

As she drew closer to him, his gaze alighted on her face once more and she fought the urge to break free from Jim's grasp and run to him. Oh, how she wanted to touch his face.

----------

From his seat in the parents' row, Terry Durham watched in awe at the scene before him as it unfolded. He had known Sara for fifteen years, and since the night he had first found her, half-naked, bleeding, and shivering on the ground of a Boston park, he had never seen her so emotionally bare.

When she walked into the courtyard, his first reaction had been a quick intake of air at her beauty. She was the quintessential Bride, lovely and blushing. But his response to her physical beauty had quickly been overshadowed by his response to the raw emotion emanating from her. Her eyes never broke from those of her lover, and the little gap in her teeth was displayed in all its glory as she beamed radiantly at him. Terry could practically feel their love pulsating between them, and as he watched, he had the vague sensation that he was intruding on something very private.

----------

The trumpeter played the final notes of the _Voluntary _as Sara and Brass came to a stop next to Grissom, who turned to face the officiate, although he couldn't quite tear his eyes away from his bride. Jim stood between them, as if a sentry.

The officiate began to speak, beginning with the classic, "Ladies and gentlemen, you have gathered here today to witness to union of Gil Grissom and Sara Sidle. The institution of marriage is almost as old as love itself…"

Grissom and Sara stared at each other, and Jim suppressed a smile as he stood between them. The officiate was going on about marriage, and Jim seemed to be the only person front and center who was actually paying any attention.

Grissom jolted back to reality as he heard, "Who gives Sara in marriage today?"

Brass gave a small smile as he replied, "I do." With that, he took Sara's face in his hands, gave her the gentlest of kisses on the forehead, and placed her right hand in Grissom's left. He then stepped away and took his place next to Warrick as the head of Grissom's wedding party.

Sara and Grissom stepped closer together and Sara immediately placed her left hand on Grissom's bare face as her eyes filled with tears. No words needed to be exchanged.

Grissom and Sara simultaneously turned toward the officiate as he began to speak. He moved quickly and fluidly through a brief introduction before launching directly into the wedding vows. Sara twisted and handed her bouquet of calla lilies to Catherine before turning back to Grissom and locking her hands with his once more. The minister asked Grissom to repeat to Sara the words he spoke.

"I, Gil, take you, Sara, to be my wife."

And Grissom did something Sara never thought possible—not in front of nearly a hundred people. As he finished the sentence, his voice broke and a single tear slipped down his face. Sara's lips parted slightly in surprise, and he gave her a half smile and a small shrug before continuing.

"…to have and hold, cherish and honor, keeping myself only for you, until death parts us."

It was Sara's turn. Her voice trembled with emotion as she pledged herself to him and only him—forever.

The ring ceremony was next. Sara had been surprised, nay, outright _shocked _at Grissom's insistence that they write their own vows for the exchange of rings. Gil Grissom was a man capable of spewing forth quotes for any unfathomable variety of situations, but when it came to expressing his thoughts in his _own _words, he was, more often than not, reduced to silence—or worse—incoherent babbling.

On this occasion, however, he did not disappoint. He took the small platinum band that Jim held out and poised it over Sara's finger. Sara looked on in curiosity; Grissom had not allowed her to see her wedding band prior to this moment. She watched him in undisguised awe as he began to speak—clearly and confidently.

"Sara Sidle…from the first day I met you, almost eleven years ago, I knew you were a force to be reckoned with. But never in my wildest dreams did I imagine, there on that first day in the lecture hall, that I would ever be standing here in this moment.

"I have lived a long life, but for too long I wasn't really alive. Insects, forensics, puzzles, crimes—these things were my family, my spouse, my children. These were the things I took to bed with me at night, and the things I woke up with each morning. I never thought I needed anything else.

"I was wrong."

Grissom took a deep breath before continuing.

"I spent years denying my love for you. I thought the status quo was pretty good, and I didn't want to risk losing the life I had known. I came up with every conceivable excuse for not acting on my emotions, and I almost fooled myself into thinking I had it all under control when a good friend explained to me the error of my ways." He smiled and glanced over his shoulder at Brass, who returned the grin.

"And so, Sara, here we are. Each day with you has been a blessing and an adventure, and I feel like I constantly need to pinch myself to make sure it's real."

Grissom looked down at the ring he was holding between his thumb and forefinger, and looked back up into Sara's eyes.

"This ring is only a physical representation of my love for you, but I give it to you as a symbol of the words my heart cannot find to say.

"There is an inscription along the inside of the band. It is the first line from Shakespeare's famous 116th sonnet. 'Let me not to the marriage of true minds admit impediments.' I think it is the perfect directive to someone like me—for you and I _are _true minds, Sara.

"_Let me not to the marriage of true minds_

_Admit impediments. Love is not love_

_Which alters where it alteration finds,_

_Or bends with the remover to remove._

_O no, it is an ever-fixed mark_

_That looks on tempests and is never shaken;_

_It is the star to every wand'ring bark,_

_Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken._

_Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks _

_Within his bending sickle's compass come,_

_Love alters not with the brief hours and weeks, _

_But bears it out even to the edge of doom._

_If this be error and upon me prov'd,_

_I never writ, nor no man ever loved."_

As Grissom spoke the last five words, he stared into Sara's eyes and pushed the platinum band onto her ring finger. Sara returned his steadfast gaze as she pulled her engagement ring from its temporary spot on her right ring finger and replaced it on her left, locking her wedding band in place.

It was her turn. She swallowed hard against the lump in her throat and turned to receive the ring that Catherine had been wearing on her thumb for safekeeping. She looked down at the platinum band as she turned it over in her fingers. Bringing her eyes back up to meet his, she began to speak.

"I've…loved you for so long. And, I, too, tried to tell myself all of the reasons why loving you was wrong. You were my professor. You were my boss. I had too much emotional baggage."

A deep breath.

"But it turns out that some things are just meant to be, and that you can't deny them, no matter how hard you try." She said this last with a small shrug of one shoulder, a half smile, and a slight tilt of her head.

"The past few months have been the most rewarding and fulfilling of my life. I've learned things that four years at Harvard and another two at Berkeley couldn't teach me. For the first time in my life, I've willingly given a part of myself away—my heart.

"Your ring also has an inscription inside it—but the quote is not from Shakespeare. It is from Gil Grissom."

His eyes widened in surprise.

"The quote is the most important thing you've ever taught me—both in work and in life."

Grissom squinted at the tiny writing as Sara continued.

" 'The evidence never lies.'" She smiled. "Before you were my lover, you were my mentor. And our feelings were obvious. The evidence didn't lie.

"You've always worried that you couldn't be everything I needed, but the truth is…you've been more than I ever thought I could need. You fit me perfectly in every way. And I love you," she finished, slipping the ring onto his left ring finger. She looked up into his face, her vision blurred by tears.

Grissom looked down at the platinum band adorning his finger as if making sure it was really there. He looked back up into Sara's watery eyes and caressed her cheek.

Sara reached around and took her flowers back from Catherine before the officiate took over once more, saying, "Inasmuch as this man and this woman have pledged their lives to one another, by the power given to me by the state of Nevada, I now pronounce them husband and wife. Gil, you may kiss your bride."

Sara displayed her megawatt Sara Sidle smile, and Grissom added his own bright smile to the mix. Slowly, he leaned forward, placing his left hand on her waist, and taking her face and neck in his right. Gently, he brought his lips to hers and kissed her with an intensity she never thought possible—not in front of so many onlookers. The kiss was slow, sweet, and warm. His tongue barely grazed hers, and he took her bottom lip between both of his lips as he pulled out of the kiss, then leaned their foreheads together before kissing the tip of her nose.

They turned to face the crowd, grinning madly, and the officiate gestured, saying, "Ladies and gentlemen, it is my honor to present for the first time, Mr. and Mrs. Gilbert Grissom."

Grissom unexpectedly threw his arms around Sara and spun her into an impromptu hug, causing her to laugh giddily. When he put her down, she took the time to glance at the wedding party. Catherine was grinning broadly through the tears streaming down her face, as were Ashley and Elizabeth. Lindsey was displaying a bright smile, sans tears, and the guys were all flashing more teeth than Sara thought she'd ever seen in her life. Brass and Nick were the only two men who looked as if they might have teared up a little before recovering their manhood.

The trumpeter took up his horn once more as Grissom and Sara descended the bridge together, followed by their wedding party. When they reached the archway that led back inside the Venetian, Grissom swept Sara into his arms once more, spinning her around gleefully.

"You have just made me the happiest man in the world," he breathed into her ear. "I love you so much."

She leaned back and looked at him, grinning. "And I you. Come on, let's take some pictures and have a party!"

**Whoo! That was a long chapter, and a tough one to write, at that.**

**Side note: someone reviewed complaining that Catherine's hair is blonde, not strawberry blonde, and I just have to say, I dig to beffer (sorry, inside joke between me and the husband). Uma Thurman has blonde hair. Poppy Montgomery has blonde hair. Emily Procter has blonde hair. Debra Messing has red hair. Gillian Anderson has red hair. And Nicole Kidman has red hair (sometimes…although she does go the strawberry blonde route sometimes). As far as I'm concerned, Marg Helgenberger is too blonde to be a redhead, and too redheaded to be a blonde. She falls right there in the middle. So I'm sorry if I have once again pissed somebody off by incorrectly "classifying" her hair color, but the woman just has too much red in her hair to be considered blonde (not to mention her classic redhead's complexion).**

**Oh, yeah, and several of you have been so sweet as to ask me how teaching is going. It's amazing and I love it, but I am SO tired all the time. And my kids border on being complete idiots at times. For example, yesterday I had them watch the inauguration during class, just for a civics lesson, since I'm sure they don't get much political exposure. So I asked them who our US Representative was (Zach Wamp). No one knew. I asked them who our two US Senators were (Bill Frist and Lamar Alexander). No one knew. I asked them who the governor of Tennessee is (Phil Bredesen). No one knew. Finally, in a fit of exasperation, I asked them who the vice president of the United States is. I shit you not, NO ONE IN MY SECOND PERIOD CLASS KNEW THE ANSWER TO THE QUESTION. And I expect them to be able to grasp Linnaean hierarchy, binomial nomenclature, and the inner workings of cells? Sheesh.**


	47. The Reception

**A/N: I have no idea if this crosses all decent boundaries of fluff and cheese, but if it does, well…deal. Sorry. The kids are turning my brain to mush. **

**Yes, teaching is going well. I had my first evaluation Friday, and my follow-up meeting was this morning, and I got glowing reviews, so I'm happy! My fourth period class was REALLY trying today, though.**

Grissom had rented out one of the large rooms at the Venetian for the wedding reception. After the cursory photographs were taken, he and Sara walked hand in hand toward the big room where their guests were waiting for the party of their lives.

Grissom turned to Sara and said, "You ready to meet Mom?"

Sara winced and said, "I'm nervous, I have to admit. I know it's ridiculous since we're already married, but I'm afraid she's going to be in a bad mood because of the delayed flight, and I really want her to like me."

Grissom snorted at this. "Bad mood? Look, sweetheart, delayed flight or no, I guarantee you she's in a rapturous mood. She just saw her 48 year-old son get married for the first time, to a woman who's still young enough to give her some grandchildren. I'd say she's okay with the situation. And besides, it's not as if you've never spoken with her before. You just haven't met her face-to-face."

Sara nodded, contemplating this.

----------

Emily Grissom had almost missed her son's wedding. She had been unable to fly in to Vegas until Saturday because of an important investor's meeting at her art gallery, and her flight from Los Angeles had been delayed because of an unspecified security breach. She had finally landed at McCarran at 4:30, with only an hour and a half to claim her luggage, get to the Venetian, get changed into her wedding suit, and get seated. It had been tight, to say the least, but she had made it, in no small part due to Al Robbins' skillful—and speedy—negotiation of the Las Vegas roadways. Her tardiness had caused a most unusual situation, though. She was sure that she was a rarity—a mother at a wedding who had yet to meet her future daughter-in-law. Naturally, she and Sara had "talked" on the phone on a number of occasions leading up to the wedding, and she already knew that she liked Sara very much. She had a wonderful personality, but even more, Sara's presence had brought about a change in her son that she had thought she would never see—Gil Grissom was lively, happy…vibrant.

And now as she stood in the large reception room, waiting to see her son wearing something she had completely given up on—a wedding band, she began to grow anxious.

----------

Grissom and Sara stepped into the reception room, and Grissom immediately made a beeline for his mom, pulling Sara gently along behind him. "Mom!" he said happily, releasing Sara's hand to sign. "Did you enjoy the wedding? How was your flight?"

Sara watched in awe as their fingers flew furiously for a moment before Grissom finally turned with a huge grin and pulled Sara forward. "And this, of course, is Sara," he signed and spoke. Sara smiled as she took in the only other woman who had ever had Gil Grissom's heart. She was an elegant and beautiful woman of 70, but didn't look a day over 60. Her sleek silver hair was pulled back into a French twist, and she had a graceful figure that made Sara wonder if she'd ever been a dancer. And those eyes—Grissom blue.

Sara shyly stepped forward and signed "Pleased to meet you," just as Grissom had taught her. She felt clumsy and stupid, but Mrs. Grissom loved the gesture. She laughed, a beautiful bubbling sound, as she stepped forward and took Sara's face in her hands. "You are so beautiful," she said reverently. "And I am so glad to finally meet you." With that, she pulled Sara forward into a tight hug, and Sara was surprised to see the glint of tears in her mother-in-law's eyes. When she released Sara, she looked at her with a tearful smile and whispered, "Thank you for making him so happy."

Grissom and Sara both blushed furiously, then broke into wide grins.

Grissom and Sara began the traditional meet-and-greet, making their way around the room to welcome their guests, until the DJ announced that it was time for the bride and groom's first dance. Grissom stepped forward with a large grin, reaching for his bride's hand. Sara anxiously moved toward him, wondering what song he had chosen for their first dance as husband and wife. He had been very adamant about choosing the song and saving it as a surprise for her. Grissom took Sara into his arms and whispered, "This song is a guilty pleasure—and it makes me think of you."

Sara listened intently as the first notes of the song filled the air. It sounded familiar, yet different. When she heard the first lyrics and realized what it was, she threw back her head and laughed.

"_Blue jean baby…LA lady…she was a seamstress for the band…"_

"Tiny Dancer?" she asked incredulously.

"Yup," he confirmed. "But not Elton John's version, obviously. This is Tim McGraw's cover of it."

"_Ballerina, you musta seen her, dancing in the sand._

Sara looked confused for a moment. "Wait a minute, isn't he a country singer?"

"Told you it was a guilty pleasure."

"_And now she's in me, always with me…tiny dancer in my head."_

Sara grinned and let Grissom move her around the dance floor, stepping lightly and fluidly as they shared their first dance together. It was an unconventional first dance, but a great song nonetheless, and besides, nothing about Sara and Grissom's relationship was conventional.

"_Oh, how it feels so real, lying here with no one near,_

_Only you, and you can hear me when I sing softly, slowly,_

_Hold me closer, tiny dancer, and count the headlights on the highway._

_And lay me down in sheets of linen,_

_You had a busy day today…"_

The photographer moved around them, permeating their dance with flashes of light, but Grissom and Sara didn't notice. They were lost to the world, smiling and laughing quietly to one another.

When the song came to a close, Grissom gently tilted Sara's head down and kissed her forehead lightly, causing a soft "aw" to ripple through the crowd. He blushed and reached for her land to lead her off the dance floor, but the DJ intervened. "Not so fast there! We still have to have the father-daughter dance, and I've been informed that the bride wants two dances, so Sara, go grab the first lucky man and get out there!"

Sara smiled and walked toward Dr. Durham, hand outstretched. Terry's face lit up as she pulled him toward the dance floor. The first strains of James Taylor's "How Sweet It Is (To Be Loved By You)" came wafting from the speakers as Terry pulled Sara in tight. He whispered something in her ear, and she hugged him close and laid her head on his shoulder for a moment before allowing herself to enjoy dancing with her surrogate dad to the light beat of the music. When the music ended, he leaned forward and kissed her cheek reverently before walking her over to Jim Brass for her second dance.

Brass bowed playfully before leading Sara back onto the dance floor for her third dance in a row. "Unforgettable" began playing as Brass led Sara around the floor, surprisingly skillfully.

"Jim," Sara began, "I just want to thank you for all the times you've been there for me. It really means a lot." She rushed the words before she could get all emotional. "Through the drinking, the near burn-out, the…well, everything. I just want to say thanks."

She blew out the breath she'd been holding as she said her piece. When she dared to look back into Jim's eyes, they were filled with complete tenderness. "No need to thank me, Doll. You're special to me, and I just never wanted to see you get hurt." He brushed her face with the back of his fingers, and she smiled.

----------

When Sara and Jim's dance ended, the DJ finally uttered the words Sara had been dying to hear since the reception started. "Ladies and gentlemen, it's now time for the mother-son dance, so if you'll all welcome our groom and his mother to floor, they're going to display their skills for us. I've been told they're quite good, so prepare to be wowed."

Sara grinned so hard she thought her face would crack. _'About time our friends knew that Grissom can do something besides regurgitate the Latin names of every species of insect known to man.' _She looked over at the highly skeptical faces of her co-workers and bit her tongue to keep from laughing out loud. Watching her husband lead his grinning mother out on the floor, she thought, _'Oh, yeah…this is gonna be good.'_

The DJ looked giddy as he started spinning a classic—Rosemary Clooney's "Mambo Italiano." The music started out slowly, and Grissom and his mother moved in perfect harmony as he led her in a series of intricate spins and dips. Then with no warning, the song took off, and so did the couple on the dance floor, much to everyone's surprise. Sara knew perfectly well that the woman had absolutely zero hearing, but you would never guess it by the skill she displayed in following her son's lead—not to mention the skill _he _displayed in leading a completely deaf woman around the dance floor. Sara grabbed the camera that she had already loaded with black and white film. The three photography classes that she had taken in college were certainly going to come in handy right about now.

She moved around the room, snapping pictures left and right as she enjoyed the sight before her. She made sure to get several pictures that captured both Grissom and his mom, as well as the looks on the faces in the crowd. As she was making her way from one side of the room to the other, she passed behind a gaping Nick, leaning her head back and saying, "Still wondering how he managed to get laid on our first date?"

Nick seemed oblivious, but Greg, who was unlucky enough to overhear, clutched his ears as if burned. "Dammit, Sara, will you _stop _that?" he whined pathetically.

----------

Before Sara knew it, the DJ was announcing that it was time for the bouquet toss, and would all single ladies please step to the center of the room? Sara grinned as she sauntered to the middle of the dance floor and observed the group of women behind her. Catherine was front and center, Lindsey was next to her, and Ashley, Elizabeth, and Mia from the DNA lab were right behind them. A couple of other single women from the lab were standing around, looking vaguely uncomfortable. The DJ started playing "Brick House" and Sara got into position as the photographer crouched near her, ready to capture the moment for posterity. Sara caught the gleam in Grissom's eye and winked, knowing exactly what he was thinking. She glanced over her shoulder once, catching Catherine's eye, and without warning tossed the bouquet over her shoulder and straight in her maid of honor's direction. The bouquet fell easily into Catherine's outstretched hands. Sara laughed gleefully and shot Nick a meaningful glance.

Sara bounced to Catherine and grabbed her into a hug, giggling. "Guess who's getting the garter?" she said slyly into her ear. Catherine pulled back with an amused, wide-eyed gasp. Sara giggled some more.

"Okay, all you single guys! Come to the center of the dance floor and get ready to see some leeeeeg!" the DJ called. "It's time for the groom to get down and dirty with his new bride!"

Sara tossed back her head and laughed at the slight flush creeping up Grissom's face. She was enjoying this way too much. Jim placed a chair in the middle of wooden dance floor, and Sara sat down in it with a flourish as the DJ began playing "Macho Man." She made a big show out of crossing her right leg over her left, exposing the two garters she wore there through the lengthy split in the side of the dress. Grissom, who was beginning to get into the little game, kneeled in front of her and made a lecherous face as he reached for her leg. Sara uncrossed her legs and placed the ball of her right foot squarely on Grissom's chest, granting him easy access. He placed his hands at her right ankle and slowly ran them up her calf toward her thigh, eliciting whistles and catcalls from the crowd. Sara shot Catherine a smug look, as if to say, "See? I _told _you I needed to take extra time shaving my legs this morning…"

When Grissom reached the lower of the two garters, he slid his fingers underneath it suggestively, hooking it on the first two fingers of each hand. Slowly, he began sliding it down, only to grab it with his teeth—to everyone's total shock—when it reached her knee. He continued his path, and came up with the garter between his teeth, as if he'd been doing nothing more innocuous than bobbing for apples. He took the garter in his right hand and held it up for the crowd to see. Sara glanced over at Greg, who had a blank stare on his face. _'Poor guy's gonna be scarred for life...'_

Grissom stood up and walked over to where the single men were gathered. Nick, Warrick, and Greg formed the front of the line, an eye-rolling Brass just behind them, and Archie, Hodges, and an engaged but still arguably single David bringing up the rear.

As Grissom placed the garter over his finger, slingshot-style, and prepared to launch it toward the men, Nick leaned toward Greg and said in a low voice, still facing straight-ahead, "Don't even _think_ about it, Bro."

Greg, never taking his eyes off Grissom's back, returned, "Wouldn't dream of it. I wouldn't miss this for the world."

At that moment, Grissom let the garter fly, and Nick and Greg simultaneously pushed backwards, preventing any of the guys behind them from stepping forward to grab it. A brown hand shot up out of the crowd and Warrick, seemingly oblivious to the conspiracy surrounding him, snatched the garter from the air. Nick glanced over just in time to catch a glimpse of the look on Catherine's face which was, to say the least, priceless.

Warrick looked down at the baby blue prize in his hand, then looked over at Catherine and grinned, suddenly understanding. She graced him with a matching grin as the photographer stepped forward to get a picture of Grissom and Warrick together. The DJ then announced, "All right, folks, let's get these two together for a special dance!"

Warrick and Catherine rolled their eyes, grinning. He walked over to her and reached out his hand, taking her in his arms, and then moving her into a smooth spin as the DJ spun Harry Connick, Jr's version of "It Had to Be You."

Sara and Grissom watched in awe as Catherine and Warrick moved fluidly together. They were incredible dancers. It made perfect sense, though. Warrick was a musician and a decidedly groovin' guy, and Catherine had danced for a living. A decidedly different sort of dancing, of course, but it was dancing nonetheless.

Sara's eyes narrowed as she watched them. They were putting up a good front, but she was fairly certain that they were oblivious to the presence of anyone else in the room. She stole a glance at Lindsey, who looked as if she couldn't decide whether to be mildly disgusted or happy for her mom.

Sliding her glance back at the couple on the dance floor, Sara observed that they had moved so close to one another that even a crowbar would probably be useless—and they both had their eyes closed. Warrick's face was half-buried in Catherine's hair, and his right arm was wrapped tightly around her waist. His left hand was holding hers, which had come to rest against his chest.

"Gee, you think there's something between them?" Grissom's voice whispered in her ear as he came up behind her. Sara giggled appreciatively before gasping. Grissom's head jerked up to see what the fuss was about. He added his own gasp when he saw what was happening on the dance floor. Warrick's lips were pressed gently to Catherine's.

----------

Four hours and the entire contents of an open bar later, the party was winding down. Grissom and Sara were disgustingly lovey-dovey, a drunken Nick was doing some hard-core macking on Ashley, Warrick and Catherine had given up all pretenses and were hanging all over each other, and Greg was doing the chicken dance with Elizabeth.

Brass was cutting a rug with Emily Grissom, an inebriated David was finally getting the nerve to dance with his fiancé in front of his colleagues, and Hodges was desperately trying to get into Mia's pants.

As the time approached 11:30, the DJ made the announcement for the last dance. "Bride's choice!" he called. Sara poked her tongue out the side of her mouth, pretending to give the issue some serious thought.

She went to the DJ's booth and made her request, and smiled as she walked dreamily back toward her husband. The sweet notes of a piano filled the air as Grissom took his bride into his arms. "Colour My World," he smiled. "Chicago."

"Mmm," she said lazily. "One of my favorites."

Slowly, other couples joined them on the dance floor. They found themselves dancing next to an equally dreamy-looking Catherine and Warrick, and Sara couldn't resist the opportunity. "'Bout damn time," she needled under her breath in Warrick's direction.

"Hey, hey," he defended. "She's a very intimidating woman."

"Yeah," Sara snorted. "Imagine what she'll be like in bed."

Grissom spun her away just as she caught the look of shock residing on the faces of both Warrick and Catherine.


	48. Summation

**A/N: Sorry 'bout the huge delay in getting this chapter up. Work is killing me. My energy is just constantly zapped.**

**On the bright side, we got a quarter inch of ice last night, so the trees look like a winter wonderland here.**

**Leslie, babydoll, hope this isn't too vomit-inducing for you.**

Sara's face was killing her. She couldn't stop grinning, and the muscles in her cheeks were beginning to protest. Loudly. The last dance had just ended, and she had wandered over to where Lindsey was standing, watching Catherine and Warrick giggle and act like lovestruck teenagers. Sara eyed the couple, then slid her glance back to Lindsey.

"So what do you think of that?" she asked, nodding toward Catherine and Warrick.

Lindsey rolled her eyes. "It's about time. Even I could see that they had it bad for each other. I'm kind of worried about them being all drunk, though. At this rate, _I'm _going to have to drive them home."

Sara giggled. "I'd like to see that. No, wait, scratch that. Don't go getting any ideas. I'll have Griss call them a cab. Will that work for you?"

Lindsey wrinkled her nose. "Yeah, that'll be fine." She tilted her head and looked at them with an appraising eye. "They do sorta look cute together, I guess. God, I just hope they don't start having sleepovers." Lindsey looked like she might gag at the thought.

Sara snorted. "Well, just remember—a sleepover for them means during the day, and you'll be at school…" Sara left the thought unfinished.

Lindsey looked horrified. "Sa-ra!" she whined.

----------

Sara had already said goodbye to Elizabeth and was now standing with Ashley, saying her farewell. Ashley hugged her for the fifth time and told her she was beautiful. "I can't believe you're taking his name. I mean, that's fine—I don't have a problem with it—it just doesn't seem like you, that's all."

Sara smiled and nodded. "From the time I was twelve years old, I never had any consistency in my life. Traditional things were out the window, and there was no such thing as a constant. I may be a feminist, but I'm also a product of my past. I want to do this. I want to take his name and have a real family—the kind I never had."

----------

Grissom and Sara stood leaning against each other in the elevator, on their way up to the suite where Catherine and Brass had already deposited their bags.. They were exhausted, but happy and content. Sara buried her head in Grissom's neck as the elevator's doors closed, only to pull it back a second later when she felt him move.

She watched as he pulled a keycard out of his pocket and placed it in the slot next to the button reading "36." He turned to her and gave her a gentle smile.

"You didn't," she said.

"I did."

"You got 'our' suite? The one we spent our first night together in?"

"I did."

Sara let out a squeal and launched herself into his arms, burying her face in his neck. "That is quite possibly the most thoughtful thing you've ever done for me. Which is saying a lot."

After a moment, the elevator doors opened and Grissom took Sara's hand and led her out into the hallway. When they reached the doorway, Grissom slid the keycard in and opened the door. He turned to her with a gentle smile, bent, and swept her up into his arms, carrying her over the threshold. It registered in Sara's mind that both times she had entered this room with Grissom, he had carried her. Only this time, he didn't put her down in the foyer. He carried her all the way to the bedroom, depositing her gently on the bed.

He bent her backwards on the comforter, kissing her hungrily, until she laughed and pushed him away. "No, sir. Not yet. I have something special to put on for you—if I can figure out where my bag is." She stood up and headed toward the bathroom. "Aha," Grissom heard her say.

Inside the bathroom, Saraopened her duffel bag and pulled out the box labeled "La Perla." She set it on the counter as she slipped out of her Vera Wang and hung it up in the closet. She rid herself of her shoes and panties, but left her second garter in place. That was his to remove.

Finally, she slipped the lid off of the La Perla box and pulled the black garment from beneath the tissue paper. It was a silky black teddy, one that she knew Grissom would love. She carefully slipped into it, and checked her reflection in the mirror before leaving the bathroom.

Grissom was lying in bed on his side, right hand propping up his head. When she emerged, his mouth fell open and his eyes widened considerably.

Sara laughed, a deep, luscious sound that aroused him even more. "I take it you like what you see, then?" she inquired lustily.

"Damn…" was all he could muster.

Sara laughed again and walked toward him. When she reached the bed, she crawled up and pushed him to his back, straddling him. Her fingers worried with his bowtie, finally untying it and tossing it aside haphazardly. He reached up and pulled her face to him, kissing her passionately.

After a moment, she sat back up. She pointed at the garter that was still on her leg and looked back up at him. "This one is yours to keep. To remember this night."

He looked at it, slipping two fingers beneath it. Meeting her eyes, he began to pull on it, slipping it lazily down her leg. When it reached her ankle, he slipped it off and placed it reverently on the nightstand. Then he attacked her with a great deal of urgency.

She began pulling his clothes off as he mumbled in her ear how happy he was, how much he loved her, how he couldn't wait to wake up next to her every day for the rest of their lives, how badly he wanted to father her children.

After only a moment, she had him naked beneath her. He was still running his fingers along the silky surface of her lingerie, torturing himself—and her—by not divesting her of it quite yet. Just when she thought she could stand it no longer, he began pulling it off of her—oh-so-slowly.

When she was finally naked, he maneuvered so that she was underneath him. As she lay looking up into his beautifully bare face and those clear blue eyes, she wondered for a moment how she ended up so fortunate.

As if reading her mind, he said, "How did I get so damn lucky?" His voice was thick with emotion.

Sara just shook her head, unable to voice any sort of coherent thought. Her body was wild with desire, fatigue, unbridled joy, and pure wonderment.

As he entered her and began to move, he said only one thing. "I love you, Sara Grissom."

----------

Their honeymoon was the definition of bliss—and far too short. Sara had never been to Hawaii before, and she found herself savoring every second of the experience. She and Grissom did everything, ranging from the mundane to the spectacular. Hanging out lazily by the pool, sipping pina coladas? Check. Scuba diving? Check. Snorkeling? Check. Attempting to surf? Check. Succeeding at it? Not so much. Boating? Check. Parasailing? Check. Trip to local butterfly habitat? Check. Lots and lots of lovemaking? Most definitely check.

On their last day, Grissom woke up and snuggled into Sara's back. He could tell by her breathing that she was already awake. "So what do you want to do today, Hon?" he asked.

"Mmm," she replied lazily. "I want to do everything! I don't want to leave!" she whined. "Vacation is so nice."

"Well, it's not like you're not getting another one soon. We take Lindsey to Utah in a week."

"I can't swim in the ocean in Utah!" Sara complained.

"I hear there's a big salt lake there. Isn't that close enough?"

Sara reached back and smacked him.

"There _is _one thing I sort of wanted to do while we were here…" she said uncertainly.

"What is it?" he encouraged.

"I don't know how you'll react. You might think I'm nuts," she said.

"You're telling this to a guy who puts red ants on his eggs," he deadpanned.

"Good call. Ok, here goes. I designed a tattoo, and I want to get it while we're here."

Grissom looked surprised. "Why would I think you're nuts?"

"You haven't seen the design yet."

----------

Four hours later, Grissom was nursing the sore skin on the back of his right shoulder.

Sara looked at him in awe. "I can't believe you did it. I honestly can't. We are so toast if anybody back at work finds out we got matching tattoos."

When Sara had revealed the design she had made, Grissom had stood for a moment, speechless. He was beyond moved by the love and creativity she had put into her design. "In physics," she had said, "the Greek letter sigma is used to represent summation—the total you get when you add everything together. In my mind, it represents us," she said simply. "We were two separate people, but now we are one—forever." She shrugged and looked down at the symbols written on the paper.

ΣGS ∞

"It would be read, 'the summation of G and S'—that's Gil and Sara," she teased, "'equals infinity.'"

"It's beautiful," Grissom breathed. "Where are you going to put it?"

"I was thinking of doing it right in the small of my back. What do you think?"

"I think it sounds perfect. Um…if I was to do it, too, where would you suggest I do it?"

Sara raised an eyebrow at him, quite sure he was joking. "Right smack in the middle of your forehead."

"Sara, I'm serious."

"You're not."

"I am. Where?"

Sara shook her head slowly, taking it in. He was going to get a tattoo? For her? Surely he was kidding.

"Umm…if I were you, I'd probably put on the back of one of your shoulders, above the shoulder blade."

And here they were, a few hours later, both freshly tattooed and a little sore. Sara's back was a little raw, but it was dulled somewhat by the endorphin rush she had experienced when she realized that Grissom was indeed going to go through with it. The tattoo artist had been quick and good, and sent them on their way after advising them to keep lotion on the tats until they healed, and by all means, keep the sunlight off of them!

Grissom reached for Sara's hand and caressed it as they strolled toward a sidewalk café to get some lunch. He was nervous. He wanted to bring up a delicate topic and had absolutely no idea how to do so.

They were seated quickly, and the waitress blessedly took their orders after only a brief delay. As Sara was sitting, staring out toward the ocean, he decided to just jump in with both feet. "May I talk to you about something rather important?" he asked timidly.

Her head snapped back toward him. "Of course," she said mildly.

"Umm…I was wondering, uh, well, how you felt about, uh, starting a family soon." Her shocked look pushed him forward, and he rambled ahead before she could stop him. "See, it's just that I keep thinking about my age, and I know you don't care about it and all that, but I want to be able to pick my kids up and play with them, and well, I'm not getting any younger, and I just sort of thought that the sooner we got started, the better it would be for them, and I don't know how you feel about it, but—"

"Grissom," she said as she delicately laid her hand atop his. "Shut up."

He looked down at his lap, embarrassed, and she rolled her eyes. "Look at me," she commanded. He obeyed. "I don't know why you were so nervous about bringing this up, Gil. We already talked about it once. If you want to start now, that's fine. I have no objections." She sat back in her chair, satisfied.

Grissom looked at her with a stupid look on his face. "Really?" he croaked.

Sara couldn't help the little laugh that escaped her. "Really," she said.

**Additional A/N: In the tattoo design, there is supposed to be an "equals" sign between the S and the infinity sign, but you know how won't let you use certain symbols for whatever reason. So just use your little imaginations and picture it there.**


	49. Good news!

**A/N: And now for a little bit of an announcement that will surprise the crap out of everyone except Leslie, who got the news over the phone almost as soon as I found out, and a few other select people, who got the news in a mass email: **

**I'M PREGNANT! **

**I found out Tuesday morning, and I grinned like an idiot all day long. Mark and I are so excited! So far I'm not sick, but I'm extremely exhausted. Check out the author's note for the last chapter—notice how I talked about how incredibly tired I was? Turns out that wasn't just from teaching!**

**Just thought y'all would want to know. And because the way I found out was so surreal, I'm going to make Sara find out in exactly the same way. :) **

**PS—This chapter truly DOES suck, and there will probably be a maximum of five more chapters on this thing before I wrap it up. It's really jumped the shark, and besides that, I have a feeling that quite soon, I'll have neither the time nor the energy for a long-running story!**

Newlywed life was good. Very good.

Grissom and Sara had returned from their honeymoon, taken Lindsey skiing, and settled into the married life without a hitch. The ski trip had been a vacation to remember, with Lindsey proving to be a fantastic companion. On top of it all, Grissom had knocked Sara's socks off by proving that he could ski. It wasn't pretty, but he did it adequately. No bones were broken, everyone had a great time, and the three returned to Nevada with a newfound closeness that Sara hoped they would never lose.

No one was more surprised than Sara at the heartfelt joy she took in the simplest little things that happened as a result of being married. Answering "Grissom" instead of "Sidle" when her cell phone rang became a real treat, and every time she caught a glimpse of the shiny band adorning Grissom's left ring finger, her heart jumped a little.

She went off the pill, and the couple began to try in earnest to start a family. The only problem is that Sara never kept very careful track of her period, so she was never sure exactly when she was late for one. Her second month off the pill, around the time she _thought _she was supposed to start her period, she began displaying some odd symptoms. Her first clue was some unusually heavy cramping. _'Strange…'_ she thought to herself. She rarely cramped, and when she did, it was generally light.

"Gil?" she asked, walking into his office one morning. "When did we work the Anderson case?"

"Huh?" He looked up from his paperwork, his mind clearly turned to mush.

"The Anderson case. That simple B and E. When did we work that one?"

"Uhh…" He looked confused. "I think it was the 3rd. Why?"

"No reason," she lied, unwilling to get his hopes up. "I just needed to know when to expect my period again. Remember, I started it there at the scene?"

He wrinkled his eyebrows. "Yeah. Is that it?"

Sara rolled her eyes. "Yeah, thanks."

-

Sara sat on the bench in the locker room, mentally calculating. _'The third. That was four weeks ago today. I'm due to start today. Okay, I'm cramping, so I'll probably start anytime.'_

She stood up, yawned, and smoothed her pants down, ready to go home and crash.

-

Crashing. That was Weird Symptom 2. While her husband stayed late at the lab to finish up that massive mound of paperwork, Sara went home and collapsed into bed—unheard of! When Grissom shook her awake ten hours later and she was still exhausted, her suspicion grew.

"Honey? Are you okay? Do you have any idea how long you've been sleeping?"

She swiped at her eyes with her fists, a habit that her husband thought was adorably child-like and angelic.

"Yeah, it's just been a rough few days," she lied again. "I'm fine."

She headed into the bathroom. No period. _'Whoa.'_

She started counting symptoms on her fingers. _'Late for my period, unusual cramping, and extreme fatigue…yikes.'_

Half an hour later she was showered, dressed, and ready to go. She poked her head into the bathroom and called out over the sound of running water, "Sweetie, I'm going to head on into work a little early. I have a few things I need to finish up. I'll meet you there, okay?"

"Sure thing, Honey," Grissom answered from behind the shower door. "Be careful. I love you."

"Love you, too."

-

Sara stood in the family planning aisle of the drugstore, overwhelmed by the choices before her. One-packs, two-packs, brand name, store brand—she had no idea what she needed.

After looking them over for a few minutes, she decided that the store brand tests were just as good as the brand names, and she selected a relatively inexpensive two-pack. She paid for her purchase, ducked her head in embarrassment as the clerk's gushed "Good luck!" and hightailed it out of there.

Twenty minutes later, she was safely locked into one of the stalls in the lab's locker room. She read the directions for the third time, ran the stick through her urine stream, recapped it, and placed it face down on top of the toilet paper dispenser while she finished her business. She stepped out of the stall and walked to the counter, hands shaking. She placed the test face down once again while she washed her hands.

"_Positive results can be seen in as early as one minute. Negative results are confirmed in three minutes."_

She looked at her watch. One minute. She couldn't stand it any longer. With trembling fingers, she turned the test over…

And was immediately confused.

The "control" window had a strong pink line, indicating that she had performed the test correctly. But the "test" window was…unclear. At first it looked blank, but upon closer inspection, there seemed to be an incredibly faint pink line there. She grabbed the instructions again.

"_The presence of a pink line in the test window is a positive result, even if the line is very faint."_

But this was too faint. This was so faint that she wasn't actually sure if she was even really seeing it. All at once, her entire body was shaking. She was breathing hard and pouring sweat.

'_I need help. Catherine!'_

She grabbed the test, stuck it up under the hem of her sleeve, and went in search of Catherine. She found her—alone, thank God—in the layout room.

"I need your help," she said in a trembling voice.

Catherine looked up in alarm, and blurted the first thing that came to mind.

"Are you injured?"

"No," Sara replied, and thrust the test into Catherine's face. "It's so faint," she said, dazedly. "I can't tell."

Catherine broke into a sly grin and grabbed the test. She looked at the line in the test window and then back up at Sara, her grin growing wider. "Yeah, sweetie. I think it's positive. You're pregnant."

Sara gasped and covered her mouth with her hands, her entire body trembling. Everything went a little fuzzy for a moment, and she leaned against the table for support. "I feel like I'm gonna throw up," she whispered, panting.

Catherine laughed lightly and began to rub circles on her back. "Just breathe deeply for a second—it'll pass."

Sara complied, and after a moment, the nausea passed, although the shakes remained. She was beyond dazed. "I have to go tell Gil," she said, almost absently. "Thanks, Cath."

"Wait, let me be the first to congratulate you!" she said, pulling Sara into a warm hug. "Now go tell the man he's going to be a daddy!"

-

Sara made her way from the layout room to her husband's office, although later, she wouldn't remember the short walk from one place to the other. By the time she got there, the gravity of the situation was beginning to hit her, and she had large tears brimming in her eyes. She pushed open his office door and he looked up from his laptop.

He was confused at her obviously emotional state, and he said, "Honey, what is it?"

Sara was unable to form coherent words, so she simply walked to him and handed him the test as she perched on the edge of his desk.

He took it from her and looked at it. He glanced up at her, back down to the test, back up at her, and down to the test once more as reality sank in. As she watched his eyes fill with tears, she finally mustered up the strength to say, "You're going to be a daddy…"

He had no words. None. So he simply dropped the test on his desk and opened his arms to her as he slid his chair back to make room for her. She moved from her perch on his desk to sit in his lap. She wrapped her arms around his neck and buried herself in him. As he smoothed her hair, his tears finally fell, hitting the side of her neck and slipping down to her shoulders. As he whispered, "I love you so much," Sara finally let go and allowed a single sob to escape. She pulled back and stared into his eyes, crying and smiling.

"We're having a baby!"


	50. Epilogue

**A/N: So this is it. The end of the road for Facades. There are a couple of reasons for it. First of all, between teaching and the pregnancy, my life is just entirely too full to keep a WIP going right now. I can do one-shots, but a WIP is just too much of a commitment. Second of all, I really feel that this little thing jumped the shark about five or ten chapters ago, and it was just really time to put her to bed. It's been an amazing ride, and I thank each and every one of you for sticking with me to the end. The sheer volume of reviews has been overwhelming—even more so because I don't think I've ever asked for a single review. That's just not my style. I write for fun, not so people will tell me how great they think I am. **

**On that note, I DID suddenly get the impression that some people at ff dot net had forgotten how to play nice. I got several flat-out mean reviews for the last few chapters, and that was fairly annoying—not because I get my feelings hurt easily or anything, but because there was absolutely no concrit to be had. One person left an anonymous review saying that this was the worst piece of fanfic ever. The kicker? The reviewer left it on chapter 51. So you're telling me someone actually took the time to read 100,000-plus words in 51 chapters only to leave a review saying how terrible it was? That's just FUNNY, if you ask me (and a little pathetic). My personal policy is to not leave flames unless there's absolutely no way around it. If I think a story sucks, I just don't review it. If you don't like the story, suck it up and don't read it. If you have something constructive to say, like, "You switched tenses here," or "You need to spell check more carefully," great! That's what we all need! But "This sucks and I hope you die," just really doesn't help anyone. **

**Hope you all enjoy this oh-so-cheesy, fluffy, and shark-jumping last chapter. Again, it's been an awesome ride!**

January, 2013

Sara laughed at the chaos reigning around her. From her perch in a rocking chair on the back porch, she had a bird's-eye view of her backyard. Directly in front of her, on the stone walkway, sat her husband, looking adorable and happy amidst a sea of discarded wrapping paper. His head was adorned with the sticky-bottomed bows that had come off of his daughters' birthday gifts. Beyond him, Sara watched her now seven year-old daughters romp with the twenty or so friends they had invited to their birthday party. There was a steady stream of seven year-olds making the round trip from the diving board into the water, to the side of the pool, back out of the water, and to the diving board once again.

"Mom! Daddy! Watch me!" As Ashley waved her hands from the edge of the diving board as only an excited seven year-old can, Grissom grinned and glanced over his right shoulder at his wife. Sara's eyes met his with a twinkle, and he glanced down lovingly at her swollen belly before turning back in time to watch his daughter do a Class-A cannonball into the pool. She shrieked with delight as she surfaced and shook the water from her ears, and Grissom threw back his head and laughed, sending two pink bows flying out of his hair.

As she sat next to Catherine on the porch, Sara rubbed her hands affectionately over her abdomen. "Seven weeks to go," she reported wearily to Catherine. "This kid is killing me." The pregnancy had been a hard-fought one. Sara and Grissom had mused at the ease with which she had conceived the twins, only to be stumped when they started trying for an additional child three years later. Sara had been nearly 41 when she finally conceived again, and the pregnancy had not been easy.

"Is Gil just beside himself at the idea of a son?" Catherine asked.

"Well, I don't think it's the idea of a son so much as it is the idea of having a new baby in the house. Who'd have ever thought he'd turn out to be such a sucker for kids? He _is_ excited, though. Have you _seen _what we've done to the nursery?" she asked, rolling her eyes with a smile.

"No!" Catherine cried. "I didn't know you had it finished. Marisa! Slow down!" she shifted gears. She looked at the dark-skinned, green-eyed six year-old who was effectively ignoring her. "Warrick, honey, do something with that child! She's not listening to me." Catherine sat back. "Sorry, what were you saying? Oh, yeah, the nursery. So it's done?"

"Oh, yeah. Dragonflies," Sara deadpanned.

"Please tell me you're kidding."

"One can only wish. Although," Sara continued, "it really _is _kind of cute, for a boy. I'll show you once some of the kids leave. I'm afraid if we go inside and leave the men in charge, we'll come back to some sort of disaster involving trips to the hospital," she grinned.

Catherine nodded. "Oh, that's cute," she said, pointing to Sara's daughters.

"Uncle Nicky! Come take a picture of us!" Elizabeth cried, throwing her arms around her sister. Nick happily obliged, coming around the edge of the pool to snap a shot of the shivering, smiling twins.

"That's gonna be a good one, my little gals," he announced.

"Thank you, Uncle Nicky!" they chorused before diving back into the pool.

Sara shook her head. "They're amazing, Cath," she said, her eyes locked on her blue-eyed, wavy-haired daughters. "I've never seen identical twins who are more different, yet still so incredibly close. They're stuck together like glue, which is odd, because it seems they only share two common interests—reading and swimming. Little fish," she laughed.

"Which one is it that's into bugs?" Catherine inquired.

"Ashley," Sara replied. "Gil just thinks he's hit the jackpot with that one. She begs to feed Gil's collection. And Elizabeth is my girly-girl. Thinks they're disgusting. And of course, you know she's into ballet," Sara smiled proudly.

"Yeah, I'm so glad you had the bright idea to sign her and Marisa up for dance together. Let me tell you, I think Marisa inherited her daddy's moves," Catherine grinned.

"Yeah," Sara snorted. "Because we all know her mother can't dance."

"Hey now!" Catherine said, slapping at Sara's arm. "Ballet's a far cry from, ah, stripping. And I better not see Marisa stripping any time soon, that's for sure. I take that back—I better not see Marisa stripping, _ever, _for that matter. Hey, look," she pointed, laughing.

Sara looked up at the amusing sight of Brass, Warrick, Nick, and Greg in the pool. Brass and Greg stood facing each other, next to Warrick and Nick, who were also facing each other. Each man had a small child on his shoulders and was involved in a full-fledged chicken fight. "Oh, that is classic," Sara giggled. "Griss!" she called. "Grab a camera, please. This must be recorded for posterity—especially Brass!"

Grissom chuckled before standing up and grabbing Nick's camera. He snapped quite a few shots of the ongoing chicken fighting before Brass playfully tossed Marisa from his shoulders and waded out of the pool. He stood on the stone deck at the edge of the pool, hands on his knees, catching his breath, before turning his head toward Grissom, Sara, and Catherine. He proclaimed, "I'm too damn old for this," with a big grin.

Unfortunately for him, Ashley heard him, and shrieked, "Uncle Jim! You owe the cuss pot a dollar!"

Brass held up his hands in surrender and headed toward the house, grabbing his wallet on the way. As he passed Grissom, he tried to hide a grin as he muttered, "Sixty years old and paying the cuss pot at the directive of a seven year-old."

Grissom shrugged and chuckled. "Hey, a rule's a rule."

Brass retorted, "I think I'll just toss in a twenty—make sure I'm covered. What exactly do you do with the cuss pot money?"

"Donate it to the charity of the girls' choice."

"So…Mom and Dad say wordy durds and charities benefit? Good lesson," Brass teased.

-

"Ok, it's official," Sara said, crawling into bed. "I'm old. I'm completely wiped out. We're going to have to hire somebody to raise our kids, because I'm officially pooped."

Grissom snorted as he pulled his wife into his arms. "You're old? No, sweetie, 41 is not old. Fifty-six? Now we're talking old. It's probably illegal in some countries to father a child at my age. You're just tired because of the little guy in your belly. Speaking of which, how's he doing?"

"He's fine. It's me you should be concerned about. I'm 41 years old and I'm carrying a watermelon in my uterus."

Grissom wrapped his arms more tightly around his wife and buried his nose in her hair. Breathing in her scent, he smiled before leaning down to gently kiss her neck. "No," he breathed. "You're carrying our son, and you're perfect. If anything, you've become more beautiful over the years."

Sara giggled and rolled her eyes. "Are you just trying to get laid? Because really, all you have to do is ask, Sweetheart." She rolled over and was surprised to see that his eyes were completely serious.

He gently ran a finger down her nose before tapping the end of it gently. "No. What I'm trying to do is explain to you that the life we have built means more to me than anything. Sitting outside, this afternoon, with our friends, watching the girls…it just…it just made me think, you know?" He propped himself up on his left elbow as he spoke to his wife. His voice shook with barely-restrained emotion as he continued. "It just made me think of how damn close I came to missing out on it completely. Was it fate? Was it coincidence? Was it God? What forces conspired so that on that day, I just happened to look through the window into the dance studio and see you there? What was it that made you decide to slip into your ballet shoes after all those years? What was it that made Brass show up at that exact moment and kick some sense into me? Huh?"

Sara looked at him, wide-eyed. She considered for a moment, then came to a conclusion. "Sweetie. You're over thinking it. Just…just be grateful that it happened, that we both came to our senses, and that everything worked out, ok? Look around and be thankful for what we have together. We got a late start, but look—we're still getting the American dream…Beautiful house, three kids, picket fence, soccer games. Ok, ok, so there's no picket fence and we go to swim meets instead of soccer games, but you get the idea. The point is," she said, reaching across to him, "we found what we were looking for. Let's not think it to death, all right?"

Grissom drew in a deep breath, sighed, and finally gave Sara a conciliatory smile. "You're right," he murmured. "You're tired; let's go to bed."

He leaned in for one more gentle kiss, and Sara turned over and snuggled her back into his stomach. As Grissom wrapped his arms around her, placing his hands on her belly, he felt his son move within her. He allowed his eyes to drift closed, thinking about the gifts he already had, as well as the gift that was to come. _'Oh, yes,' _he thought. _'I'm going to keep Jim Brass in cigars and brandy for the rest of his life.'_


End file.
